


By Your Hand I Have Loved

by dandelionsandroses



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 85,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionsandroses/pseuds/dandelionsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Katniss, this is King Peeta, he has come from the great country of Panem," her father's breath became shaky, "Daughter, he has come from Panem to request your hand in marriage in exchange for protection and wealth for our country."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

I stand there with my mouth agape, my heart pounding in an inconsistent manner as I process the information I just heard. He wants me to marry him, but Gale - and why on earth would somebody from such a wealthy country like Panem want to marry into my family? My country has nothing to give him. Seam has limited resources aside from coal, which certainly isn't worth the bother. Why would _he_ travel here for _my_ hand?

My father wakes me from my uncomfortable gaping, "Well daughter, what do you think?"

"Oh-Okay," I sputter out. My mind swirls, and in a last moment decision I gather up my skirts in the most unladylike fashion and just run. I run faster than I ever have, dashing across the floors of the throne room, barely stopping as a guard struggles to quickly release the gate. I run all the way through the palace and out the kitchen door, not stopping until I reach the safety of the forest. I even manage to trip a servant carrying a load of laundry in a rough metal bucket. Usually, I would stop or at least attempt to help, but right now it feels like my chest is closing in on my body and I just need to flee.

* * *

Gale finds me lying on the bed of the forest, curled up in a little ball. Without a word he places a tin of freshly baked cookies in my lap, our little patch of cleared ground lighting up with the smell of the bakery.

"Oh, Katniss," he says to me, slipping a cookie into his mouth, "What are you going to do?"

"They want me to marry him. They want to - to just take me away from everything I know," I cry, leaning into his shoulder.

"I heard," he loosens his tight grip around me and looks me in the eyes, "Remember Katniss, you do not have to go through with this. You have a choice. You always have a choice."

"Gale," I laugh coldly, blinking back tears, "we both know that isn't true. We both know that it is my duty to give myself for my country. You would do the same if you were in my position. It is duty, and with the state Seam is in, we aren't going to survive much longer…"

"But Panem?" Gale says, the anger evident in his voice. "Out of all the people that could take you away, it has to be the King of _Panem_?"

I know where his anger comes from. Haven't I've felt the same feelings towards the country that has dominated the rest of the region with an iron fist? Have I not known the same bitterness towards the nation that caused the Dark Days? Does Gale not understand that regardless of what Panem has done, we have responsibilities. Better to live in darkness, than starve in light.

"I have to," I tell him bluntly, "if it will bring prosperity to Seam, I would marry a barbarian."

"I know my duty, and I know yours," Gale sighs, "I'm just not sure If I'm willing, or even able to give you up. I'm not that sacrificial, Katniss."

I shake my head, "Gale…"

He cuts me off with a small kiss against the corner of my lips. "I'm sorry, I had to do that at least once," he says.

I look up at him, my mind muddled with the overwhelming thoughts. "Gale, I can't. _We_ can't. If that man still wants me after running out of there like that, we both know, we both have to accept..." I sigh against him, my nose resting on his, "we have to accept the fact that if he still takes me I will go willingly to Panem...forever."

"You shouldn't give yourself to a man like that. God knows what he will do to you when you're away from the safety of your home," Gale says, grasping my hands, "But if you are willing to make that sacrifice, I know I will be unable to stop you."

"You know I have to do this," I shrug, "others have it far worse, no matter what he does to me."

He gives me a sad smile, "If that is what you want. Whatever you want, Katniss. I could never deny you of anything. Why don't I run and get the bows and we can relax for a while," his voice cracks, "Although, you should probably change out of that dress. Not that it matters if you ruin it, with a husband like that you will be rolling in gowns that cost ten times the price of this one."

* * *

When my father catches me he scolds me for running away, even though he does it with tears in his eyes. "You have to start acting like the Queen of Panem, Katniss. You can't run around anymore in the way I have allowed you to. Those people, they will never accept that. You have to make him pleased by your actions, if only for your people."

Several days go by, and King Peeta remains in both the castle and his decision to take me as his wife. I try to spend every waking moment with my loved ones, a way of saying goodbye, although it becomes fairly difficult due to the amount of feasts and dances my father puts on for my newly betrothed. Over the days, members of the Capitol, the city in Panem where the royal court is held, swarm in to join in on the celebrations. I've only ever heard of the extravagance of the place, but from the get ups that I see the visiting courtiers wearing I can only assume Panem's wealth is far beyond my imagination. When I hear that the people who have arrived are only tailors, dressmakers, and an assortment of different people that have been sent to prep me for the journey I nearly faint. If this is what the merchant class of the Capitol wear, I can only imagine what finery the members of Court are dressed in.

* * *

I meet the prep team early on the morning before I will leave. R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with a too wide dress who wears a wig in the shape of a bird cage, rips a piece of fabric from my legs.

"Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent.

"You're just so hairy!"

Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s...it's practically impossible not to mimic them.

Venia makes what is supposed to be a sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" I grip my hands on the table I am seated on and give a nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted from me in a painful jerk. I have spent three hours curled up in this chamber as the prep team fixes me to look like the Queen of Panem. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my usually dirt filled nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been swiftly removed. I feel like a bird that has been rid of it's feathers. It's unsettling.

Venia looks back at her work, admiring it with a lustful gaze, "Excellent. You look almost human now. His highness will love you!" Apparently I am supposed to be comforted by the fact that some strange man will enjoy my body being stripped of its hair.

They step out of the room. It's kind of hard for me to hate them in the way I do the others, they are such idiots that I can't really expect much from them.

The door opens and a young man who must be the dressmaker enters. I am visibly taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the people from Panem I have seen are covered in rouge, wigs, and an assortment of heavy colors. But this man has close-cropped hair that appears to be its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black jacket and breeches. The only concession to self-alteration seems to be metallic gold powder that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can't help thinking how attractive it looks.

"Hello, Katniss, is it alright if I call you that? I'm Cinna, I will be assembling your wardrobe for your life as my queen. I've already assembled a few travel gowns for your journey."

"Oh," I say, unsure of what the proper response is.

Cinna slips me into a light orange gown that's made of a heavy fabric, unsure of what it's made of it I run my hand along the midsection. It's not quite velvet, and it's not quite silk. It's a bit thicker, and softer than most of the fabrics I have experienced.

"It's a modified form of velvet I came up with. It doesn't wrinkle and it's more comfortable for a long journey," Cinna explains as he attached a lace covered front that matches the long lace sleeves. I have never cared much for dresses, but even I can admit it's stunning.

"His highness has requested for your hair to be left in it's usual style, and I have noticed that you wear a lot of braids, so that is what we will be doing."

At least I will be able to leave my hair in a comfortable fashion. It pains me to think of wearing one of those silly wigs as the carriage went over every bump. Why King Peeta put any thought into that, however, I don't know. Maybe he didn't want to be hit by a falling wig?

* * *

After my corset is loosely tied, the dressed stitched here and there so it fits better, and my brown locks tied up in an elaborate braid, Cinna leads me through the halls of the palace to a room where my loved ones await to say their final goodbyes. I have already said everything I wanted to say in the comfort of true privacy, but it is Seam tradition to say goodbye to your loved ones before you leave your maiden home.

My little sister, Prim, burst into tears near immediately, her blue eyes, so much like those of my mother's, flooding as she wraps her body around mine.

"Katniss," she says, "I'll miss you."

"Oh Prim," I say, squeezing my sister back.

"At least you are marrying Peeta," my sister sniffs, "it's terribly romantic, and he is handsome and nice."

How naive. To think that a man coming and stealing me away from my family is some sort of fairytale romance. Honestly, though, I had yet to spend any time alone with him yet. I had sat three chairs down from him, in my rightful place at the table, several times over the past days, but he had never addressed me directly. From what I can tell, Peeta is a very charming man. He managed to get a few laughs out of the noblemen. He has a silver tongue, and his pretty words pleased seemingly everybody but me. I for one have never been a big fan of those who are so enthralling with their words, those who deceive others so easily. In fact, it unnerved me that the man who is taking me in marriage was that good with words.

My sister cries, Gale enwraps me into a choking hug, and my father gives only emotionless words of 'congratulations' on bringing honor to my family. He sounds, for once in my life, like a king instead of a father. Is this what my relationship would become with my family after I spend a few years away? My little sister would become Primrose of the Everdeen house, and Gale only the reigning monarch of Seam. Would I just be the Queen of Panem, somebody they once knew but now only spoke to in diplomatic relations?

Today I start a new life, a life where I will bear the King of Panem's children. A life where my family will become Panem, and my current family, the people I love, only figures of my past. The realization scares me. I am seventeen years old, with no mother and so few years with my father, where will I be in a handful of years?

For the sake of my family and my sanity, I only shed a couple of tears and hold back from the internal nightmare. _My name is Katniss, of the Everdeen house. I am seventeen years old. I am going to marry King Peeta. I will be a wife and a Queen._ I repeat to myself, the words calming me down, so by the time the Panemian guard, dressed in the finest livery, leads me out of the room and to the heavy mahogany main doors of the palace, the only emotion I feel is a newfound burning encouragement to do what I know is the best for my people.

* * *

**Author's Note: Again, I do not own the Hunger Games franchise. All the characters here belong to their respective owners (Suzanne Collins, publisher, etc.) First of all,** **I would like to thank everybody who reviewed the first chapter. I did not expect to get that much support from everybody. Thanks for all of your reviews. It made my day!**

**Some editing notes, The prep scenes were based off of the prep scenes from the Book, just edited.** **I switched the dialogue over to first person recently, so there may be some inconsistencies.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

I stand there with my mouth agape, my heart pounding in an inconsistent manner as I process the information I just heard. He wants me to marry him, but Gale - and why on earth would somebody from such a wealthy country like Panem want to marry into my family? My country has nothing to give him. Seam has limited resources aside from coal, which certainly isn't worth the bother. Why would _he_ travel here for _my_ hand?

My father wakes me from my uncomfortable gaping, "Well daughter, what do you think?"

"Oh-Okay," I sputter out. My mind swirls, and in a last moment decision I gather up my skirts in the most unladylike fashion and just run. I run faster than I ever have, dashing across the floors of the throne room, barely stopping as a guard struggles to quickly release the gate. I run all the way through the palace and out the kitchen door, not stopping until I reach the safety of the forest. I even manage to trip a servant carrying a load of laundry in a rough metal bucket. Usually, I would stop or at least attempt to help, but right now it feels like my chest is closing in on my body and I just need to flee.

* * *

Gale finds me lying on the bed of the forest, curled up in a little ball. Without a word he places a tin of freshly baked cookies in my lap, our little patch of cleared ground lighting up with the smell of the bakery.

"Oh, Katniss," he says to me, slipping a cookie into his mouth, "What are you going to do?"

"They want me to marry him. They want to - to just take me away from everything I know," I cry, leaning into his shoulder.

"I heard," he loosens his tight grip around me and looks me in the eyes, "Remember Katniss, you do not have to go through with this. You have a choice. You always have a choice."

"Gale," I laugh coldly, blinking back tears, "we both know that isn't true. We both know that it is my duty to give myself for my country. You would do the same if you were in my position. It is duty, and with the state Seam is in, we aren't going to survive much longer…"

"But Panem?" Gale says, the anger evident in his voice. "Out of all the people that could take you away, it has to be the King of _Panem_?"

I know where his anger comes from. Haven't I've felt the same feelings towards the country that has dominated the rest of the region with an iron fist? Have I not known the same bitterness towards the nation that caused the Dark Days? Does Gale not understand that regardless of what Panem has done, we have responsibilities. Better to live in darkness, than starve in light.

"I have to," I tell him bluntly, "if it will bring prosperity to Seam, I would marry a barbarian."

"I know my duty, and I know yours," Gale sighs, "I'm just not sure If I'm willing, or even able to give you up. I'm not that sacrificial, Katniss."

I shake my head, "Gale…"

He cuts me off with a small kiss against the corner of my lips. "I'm sorry, I had to do that at least once," he says.

I look up at him, my mind muddled with the overwhelming thoughts. "Gale, I can't. _We_ can't. If that man still wants me after running out of there like that, we both know, we both have to accept..." I sigh against him, my nose resting on his, "we have to accept the fact that if he still takes me I will go willingly to Panem...forever."

"You shouldn't give yourself to a man like that. God knows what he will do to you when you're away from the safety of your home," Gale says, grasping my hands, "But if you are willing to make that sacrifice, I know I will be unable to stop you."

"You know I have to do this," I shrug, "others have it far worse, no matter what he does to me."

He gives me a sad smile, "If that is what you want. Whatever you want, Katniss. I could never deny you of anything. Why don't I run and get the bows and we can relax for a while," his voice cracks, "Although, you should probably change out of that dress. Not that it matters if you ruin it, with a husband like that you will be rolling in gowns that cost ten times the price of this one."

* * *

When my father catches me he scolds me for running away, even though he does it with tears in his eyes. "You have to start acting like the Queen of Panem, Katniss. You can't run around anymore in the way I have allowed you to. Those people, they will never accept that. You have to make him pleased by your actions, if only for your people."

Several days go by, and King Peeta remains in both the castle and his decision to take me as his wife. I try to spend every waking moment with my loved ones, a way of saying goodbye, although it becomes fairly difficult due to the amount of feasts and dances my father puts on for my newly betrothed. Over the days, members of the Capitol, the city in Panem where the royal court is held, swarm in to join in on the celebrations. I've only ever heard of the extravagance of the place, but from the get ups that I see the visiting courtiers wearing I can only assume Panem's wealth is far beyond my imagination. When I hear that the people who have arrived are only tailors, dressmakers, and an assortment of different people that have been sent to prep me for the journey I nearly faint. If this is what the merchant class of the Capitol wear, I can only imagine what finery the members of Court are dressed in.

* * *

I meet the prep team early on the morning before I will leave. R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with a too wide dress who wears a wig in the shape of a bird cage, rips a piece of fabric from my legs.

"Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent.

"You're just so hairy!"

Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s...it's practically impossible not to mimic them.

Venia makes what is supposed to be a sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" I grip my hands on the table I am seated on and give a nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted from me in a painful jerk. I have spent three hours curled up in this chamber as the prep team fixes me to look like the Queen of Panem. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my usually dirt filled nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been swiftly removed. I feel like a bird that has been rid of it's feathers. It's unsettling.

Venia looks back at her work, admiring it with a lustful gaze, "Excellent. You look almost human now. His highness will love you!" Apparently I am supposed to be comforted by the fact that some strange man will enjoy my body being stripped of its hair.

They step out of the room. It's kind of hard for me to hate them in the way I do the others, they are such idiots that I can't really expect much from them.

The door opens and a young man who must be the dressmaker enters. I am visibly taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the people from Panem I have seen are covered in rouge, wigs, and an assortment of heavy colors. But this man has close-cropped hair that appears to be its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black jacket and breeches. The only concession to self-alteration seems to be metallic gold powder that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can't help thinking how attractive it looks.

"Hello, Katniss, is it alright if I call you that? I'm Cinna, I will be assembling your wardrobe for your life as my queen. I've already assembled a few travel gowns for your journey."

"Oh," I say, unsure of what the proper response is.

Cinna slips me into a light orange gown that's made of a heavy fabric, unsure of what it's made of it I run my hand along the midsection. It's not quite velvet, and it's not quite silk. It's a bit thicker, and softer than most of the fabrics I have experienced.

"It's a modified form of velvet I came up with. It doesn't wrinkle and it's more comfortable for a long journey," Cinna explains as he attached a lace covered front that matches the long lace sleeves. I have never cared much for dresses, but even I can admit it's stunning.

"His highness has requested for your hair to be left in it's usual style, and I have noticed that you wear a lot of braids, so that is what we will be doing."

At least I will be able to leave my hair in a comfortable fashion. It pains me to think of wearing one of those silly wigs as the carriage went over every bump. Why King Peeta put any thought into that, however, I don't know. Maybe he didn't want to be hit by a falling wig?

* * *

After my corset is loosely tied, the dressed stitched here and there so it fits better, and my brown locks tied up in an elaborate braid, Cinna leads me through the halls of the palace to a room where my loved ones await to say their final goodbyes. I have already said everything I wanted to say in the comfort of true privacy, but it is Seam tradition to say goodbye to your loved ones before you leave your maiden home.

My little sister, Prim, burst into tears near immediately, her blue eyes, so much like those of my mother's, flooding as she wraps her body around mine.

"Katniss," she says, "I'll miss you."

"Oh Prim," I say, squeezing my sister back.

"At least you are marrying Peeta," my sister sniffs, "it's terribly romantic, and he is handsome and nice."

How naive. To think that a man coming and stealing me away from my family is some sort of fairytale romance. Honestly, though, I had yet to spend any time alone with him yet. I had sat three chairs down from him, in my rightful place at the table, several times over the past days, but he had never addressed me directly. From what I can tell, Peeta is a very charming man. He managed to get a few laughs out of the noblemen. He has a silver tongue, and his pretty words pleased seemingly everybody but me. I for one have never been a big fan of those who are so enthralling with their words, those who deceive others so easily. In fact, it unnerved me that the man who is taking me in marriage was that good with words.

My sister cries, Gale enwraps me into a choking hug, and my father gives only emotionless words of 'congratulations' on bringing honor to my family. He sounds, for once in my life, like a king instead of a father. Is this what my relationship would become with my family after I spend a few years away? My little sister would become Primrose of the Everdeen house, and Gale only the reigning monarch of Seam. Would I just be the Queen of Panem, somebody they once knew but now only spoke to in diplomatic relations?

Today I start a new life, a life where I will bear the King of Panem's children. A life where my family will become Panem, and my current family, the people I love, only figures of my past. The realization scares me. I am seventeen years old, with no mother and so few years with my father, where will I be in a handful of years?

For the sake of my family and my sanity, I only shed a couple of tears and hold back from the internal nightmare. _My name is Katniss, of the Everdeen house. I am seventeen years old. I am going to marry King Peeta. I will be a wife and a Queen._ I repeat to myself, the words calming me down, so by the time the Panemian guard, dressed in the finest livery, leads me out of the room and to the heavy mahogany main doors of the palace, the only emotion I feel is a newfound burning encouragement to do what I know is the best for my people.

* * *

**Author's Note: Again, I do not own the Hunger Games franchise. All the characters here belong to their respective owners (Suzanne Collins, publisher, etc.) First of all,** **I would like to thank everybody who reviewed the first chapter. I did not expect to get that much support from everybody. Thanks for all of your reviews. It made my day!**

**Some editing notes, The prep scenes were based off of the prep scenes from the Book, just edited.** **I switched the dialogue over to first person recently, so there may be some inconsistencies.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: WOW! Over 100 follows in less than 48 hours. This is absolutely amazing. I decided, thanks to all of the reviews, and the realization that I couldn't truly express their relationship properly without Katniss's inside thoughts to go with a first person perspective.**

* * *

The guard opens the door and it makes a slight screech as it hits the floors below, sending a high pitched squeal that towers over the sound of the crowd that has gathered to see me sent off to Panem. Peeta is waiting at the end of the platform presumably for me. He looks up at me for a second, blue eyes blazing, as he extends his hand in my direction.

"This way," he says to me with a slight nod as I accept his hand.

The pathway in front of me has been separated off by two lines of well uniformed guards, their livery in the colors of Panem, gold and red. Red for the roses that brought the people of Panem joy through the dark ages that formed the country, and gold to glorify the everlasting wealth that will be held by Panem. Or so I have been told.

Peeta gently leads me towards the carriage at the end of the pathway. It is far beyond anything my limited imagination could conjure up. The outside is finely covered in gold, and twisted decorations of different animals and crowns, which I would assume are important to the history of Panem, adorn the tops and sides. Painted on the doors are elaborate scenes of chubby cherubs dancing on fountains and what seems to be a montage to a member of the royal house.

When we reach the end of the pathway, he stops about two feet before the open carriage doors and he loosens his tight grip on my hand and steps into the carriage before allowing a guard to place me onto one of the benches. The carriage has an almost comforting presence that seems to invite me into it's finery. The walls and benches are covered in a plush pillowed gold fabric, with only the doors to each of my sides black. Along the edges of the doors and the rims of the benches, the royal crown of Panem is embroidered. Two glass windows, one to the sides of my bench and the other over the doors allow the colors of the crowd to reflect against the gold in the cars. Peeta sits silently across from me on an identical bench, only staring forward as the carriage goes off with a start, leading me into my new life.

I gently push myself over to the corner and stare out the window. It's an ethereal scene that I see through the glass. The worn sandy colored stone of the palace where I grew up towers above us, and my people encompass the carriage waving goodbye and running handkerchiefs through the air. My heart tightens a bit as I catch my family standing from a balcony on the royal wing, their bright, shiny clothes standing out from the dull grey of the sky.

My nose remains pressed against the window for a while, taking in the scenery of the road. Bright fields of lively flowers, the thatched straw roofs and flat daub walls of peasant houses, and comforting rows of tall crops that brush against the windows meet me with a longing. It is only when I hear his voice calling out to me that I remove my face from the window, leaving a foggy imprint of my face against the sheet of glass.

Peeta's legs are stretched against his seat, each of his hands places against the accompanying limb. He is wearing deep blue silk breeches with tall black boots that reach his knees, a creamy silk vest that has been embroidered with a gold pattern of vines, and a long jacket that matches the breeches' in color. Strung across the seat I can see the gold handle and the leather scabbard that covers his sword.

"Katniss," he says pausing slightly to adjust his stance, "you know that technically we are married as of now. I had the order for the marriage sent about seven days ago. They should have legalized it by proxy and priest by now."

I'm not exactly sure what to make of this. Does he think me truly uncivilized or dull to the point that I have no understanding of how the legal process for marriages between countries works? Does he assume that I'm a simpleton because I'm a girl? I'm not sure how to express either of these sentiments without angering him, so I choose a simple reply."Oh?"

Peeta gives me a quick grin,"Yes! Isn't is so peculiar how we are bonded together as man and wife, yet I don't know even know what your favorite color is?" He pauses to catch my reaction, "Maybe that is something we could do together, instead of just sitting here in silence and not speaking we could use this time to get to know each other. We can forget the marriage and just start off as friends. Would you like that?"

I'm not really sure if you can even be friends with somebody who has just spoken their first words to you, but it's not as if I can really say no.

"If that is what you wish..." I hesitate before adding, "My favorite color, it's green. What about you?"

He replies with earnest, "Orange."

"Orange?" I conjure up a bright color, like the oranges that come to Seam in the spring or the bright dress that the carnival men wear. Orange? Is that where his taste lies?

"Not a harsh orange, but a soft orange. Like sunset. Look out the window right now, it's setting nicely."

"Oh. I guess that is pretty," I say pressing my face against the window once more. It's true. I've never been the type of person that sees all of the beauty in the world, but even I can admit the delicate swirls of colors that greet me in the sky could define the word 'pretty'.

"It is," he smiles at me and motions at me to come sit on his side of the carriage. I lift the hem of my skirt and I sit next to him. My hip is aligned to his as he continues, "You have beautiful sunsets in your country, or perhaps I should say your former country, as you now belong to Panem. I knew I was going to regret not bring my paints with me."

"You paint? What are your usual subjects?" I'm a bit surprised at this. He doesn't seem like the painting type, and I have only known women who do it in an unprofessional setting. And it's a very expensive hobby, though I doubt it makes a dent in his pockets. The comment about Seam no longer being my country irks me a bit, though I suppose it's technically true.

"It differs. Sunsets, people, the merchant quarters in the Capitol. It depends on my mood. Maybe that's something we could do together to save us boredom. I could paint you tomorrow, if we aren't going over a bumpy area. I wouldn't want to ruin a painting of you. Or maybe I could teach you some things? Do you think that would be enjoyable for you? I'm not sure if you would have any interest in the field."

He wants to paint me? How is it that everything he says seems to reveal another layer of his personality? I never imagined him to be so soft. Was that it? Maybe it's just an artist thing, loving sunsets and wanting to be friends.

"Why would you want to paint me? And my mother already tried to get me involved in art, I was awful! My sketch of the palace looked like a tree!" I laugh at myself and tug a little at his arm. It's odd how comfortable I feel with him after knowing him for such a short time. I've noticed the effect he has on people before, I just never thought it would work on me. Saying he wants to paint me, asking my favorite color, commenting on the beauty of my country. It's all his way of charming me. Getting me to feel comfortable around him for whatever reason.

"Oh Katniss," he pauses, "you are a beautiful feminine subject that I could never do justice to. I've been thinking of the combination of colors that would match your eyes for quite a while. It would be nice to get an up close study of them."

It's a lie. A flat out lie. I'm not very pretty, and I am certainly not feminine.

"Oh," I mutter, "there is no need to flatter me." Unsure of what to say I change the subject to something I have been ruminating on. "But remember how you said we could ask each other questions? I have one, but it may bring your anger on me." I wince a little, waiting for his response.

"You are my wife, at least in technical terms, the ceremony and celebration has yet to happen. You may ask me whatever you please. I will not anger with you." I doubt it's true, but I figure as long as he is being nice to me, as long as he is trying to charm me, I might as well ask the question that has burned in my brain.

"Why did you not speak to me while we were in Seam? I felt the slightest bit like you were ignoring me."

"Honestly, I didn't think it was in my rights to take up the few precious minutes you would have left with your people. I can't imagine what this is like for you. Me coming here and suddenly ripping you from the family who I can see you care deeply for."

I wonder if it's true. If he just lacked interest in me, or if he really was being compassionate towards my woes.

"Oh. I guess I can understand that. Um-" I pause as the silence grows thick, "I guess it is your turn to ask me a question, sir." Sir? How cold did that sound ringing from my throat. I'm not sure if he would mind me calling him Peeta, and I don't want to upset him.

"It's Peeta. Just Peeta. You are my wife. I think it would be appropriate for you to call me by my first name, before anybody else at least. I have heard that you sing, is that true?"

What? My mind runs through a million scenarios. How would he know something like that about me? It's something only the people closest to me know, maybe a handful of people in the village and the castle staff besides my family know that I sing. It's suspicious that he would know something like this about me. I can't imagine anyone telling him.

"I sing sometimes, how did you know?"

"Oh, a little birdie told me. That isn't important. It's your turn to ask a question, Katniss."

The words he uses makes it clear that this is no longer up for discussion, and the feeling that he is dictating me nerves me to the point that I ask the real question everybody has been wondering point blank.

"Why did you come all the way to Seam for my hand in marriage? We're a small country. We have nothing to offer you. My country is, to be honest with you, going to shambles and I'm sure that you could find a far more suitable woman among your country or a wealthier princess that could offer you things that I cannot."

Much to my surprise, he doesn't anger with me. "Katniss, did you ever hear about Prime Minister Snow? He ran my country until I was of age."

"Of course I've heard of him," I squeak out. Prime Minister Snow was a tyrant that ruled Panem for a few years. Even in Seam we heard of his atrocities.

"Well, after I turned eighteen... I had him disposed of. Since then I have managed to restore order in my country. The people are happy and healthy. Business is more than fine, in fact it is booming. However, after the reign of my mother and with the things that Snow did there has been a disconnect between my people and their nobles," he pauses as the carriage grumbles beneath us. "Well, Katniss," he brushes a strand of my hair from my face.

"Yes," I choke out. Shocked that I have allowed this man, who is both my husband and a stranger to touch me.

"Well, as I was saying. The people think kindly towards me, and so far my reign has been successful but we lack a reliability between commoner and noble. So in order to bridge that gap, I'm giving them a love story."

"A love story?" What could that possibly have to do with me.

"A love story. You see, not only do you come from, and forgive me for saying this, more relatable means, but because I gain no wealth or land from marrying you, they will think of only one reason why this has happened. That I have thought kindly on you and chosen you as my bride."

I look at him, tilting my head towards his face. It's a great idea, he must be good at this. Though it still doesn't explain everything in the way I want it to.

"But why me, not some common girl from your own country. Surely that would connect the people even better."

"You're still a princess. It's still respectable amongst the nobles for me to take you as my wife."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense," I say as my eyes begin to become weary from our long conversation. "I'm tired."

He sighs and gives me a light smile. "If you want, you can lay your head on my shoulder and rest. I will not mind."

Usually I would protest, but it's true. I am tired, and I allow myself to nod off on the shoulder of a man who was practically a stranger this morning.

* * *

**Author's Note: I decided to give you guys a half chapter today as a gift for all the follows. I'm not sure if you would prefer 5,000 words every few days or half of that every day/every other day. What do you think?**

**NOTE: This has not been reviewed by a beta, and I should probably read it over again before publishing but I want to get it out tonight. Any constructive criticism? What do you think of the dynamic? Am I making Katniss too drawn to him? It's just that I aways imagined Peeta as one of thsoe guys that made you feel super comfortable.**

**Also, I made a tumblr today where I post some updates/hints for the new chapters. You can also ask me anything at starveinsafety**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. All characters and settings belong to their respective owners. These are not my characters, unfortunately, these are the lovely Suzanne Collins' works.**

* * *

I am awoken by a large thud. My head slips down from it's resting point ,and I am jerked awake. A strong hand, a man's hand, shakes me.

"Katniss, wake up! Katniss!"

I ball my hands up against my body and make a noise of indignation, it's Peeta who is before me. I must have fallen asleep on his shoulder. Stupid, stupid Katniss! I shouldn't have allowed myself to get so close to this man, even if he was technically my husband. The ceremony was yet to come, I should at least keep my guard up until then. I can't allow myself to fall under his spell like everybody else does. At least not until I really know what his intentions were.

"Yes, Peeta?" I ask him, rubbing my eyes as I groggily awake.

"We will be arriving in Amerthirst in a short while. You should probably make yourself presentable," he says, motioning towards my wrinkled dress and slept in hair.

I run my fingers through my hair, straightening it and fashioning it into a simple braid. It's not very ladylike of me, far from what the Queen of Panem ought to do, but I never claimed to be the exceptional candidate for this position. Any other princess would have protested and awaited for a servant to fix her hair. Peeta has no idea what a fool he was in choosing me to be his wife. I wouldn't be surprised if I get the axe in a couple of years.

Rousing me from my morbid thoughts, Peeta raises his voice, "You should probably return to your seat. For decency's sake." It's a fair point. Being caught in this frenzied state sitting next to him would not be good for my reputation, so I crunch my dress up to my knees, not bothering about what Peeta may see, and I plop down on my original seat.

"Thank you for waking me."

"It's no problem, really. You can look out the window if you would like. The sun is starting to rise. You were out for a while."

I glance to my left, there are raindrops running along the glass. It must have rained very recently. It's still somewhat dark out, but Peeta was right. The sun is starting to rise. From what I can see in the windows, and what I can make from the sounds of the horses pounding across the ground we are on a cobblestone road. Alongside the road, there are fields and fields of tall grasses. Occasionally a small brick house of sorts with be spotted. They are small, the type that a baker or a blacksmith would reside in. With that and the road, I can safely assume that we are riding into an estate. What did Peeta call it? Amthirst?

"Where are we?"

"Amerthirst, it's the summer residence of my dear friend, Lord Albernathy. He leads my council of advisors. He's a bit rough around the edges, but I am sure you can appreciate him."

As we near the end of the road, I hear the driver make a shout as we come to a halting stop.

"We must be here, Katniss," Peeta says as somebody opens the doors. It's a guard, dressed in the same livery as the day before. Red and gold. He gives a swift bow before allowing Peeta to exit and waiting a handful of paces before taking my hand and leading me out. A servant girl greets me. She is about my age. Pale skin, stunning red hair, and striking. She wears a dark simple dress that is relatively clean for spending time in the woods, a lot cleaner than I would have been if it was not for my rest. She is beautiful for a servant, although maybe she had been hand selected for that fact. The people from the Capitol seemed to have a thing for beauty.

The house is probably half the size of where I grew up, and it's in an immaculate state. About fifty windows in the front, a mixture of off white stones and gold accents greet me. It's bathed in luxury from the smallest flower to the enormous fountain that runs in front of the property. From where we are walking I can see the elaborate and bright green trees and bushes that line the mansion in a pattern.

I can't imagine how a simple Lord can afford this just as a summer house. If this is what the summer houses look like, I don't think I will even be able to process the palace in the Capitol. I've heard about it of course. Everybody has from Rueland to Tretze. It was built about a hundred years ago, when they moved court to the Capitol. From what I have heard, the Palace has over seven hundred rooms, a ballroom covered entirely in mirrors, and acres upon acres of gardens. It may just be rumors, though I'd have to ask Peeta. I curse myself for that. I can't start depending on Peeta for anything. Not for my country's safety, not for my adjustment into the capitol, not even for my daily bread. If I am going to survive here, I will do it on my own terms.

* * *

That's how the next few days go by. A night is spent with the Albernathy clan. Lady Maysilee is sweet and well bred. The Lord is a bit of a drunk, sort of a fool too, and it makes me question Peeta's ability to run the country. What type of King puts a drunk as their advisor?

When I ask, Peeta only tells me that, "He is the only person here I can truly trust. When it comes down to it, he will be there when he is needed. Preferably drunk, he's an odd man when he's sober."

We spend another night in a six story house in a bustling city. Peeta isn't close with the people there, I can only imagine we made the stop for diplomacy's sake. I hold my tongue the entire time, scared of saying something wrong. I think the ladies assume I'm dull, but I can't be bothered enough to care about how the gossip will effect my reputation. It's there, in the city, where Peeta instructs me how to act around the crowds. The royal carriage takes a ride through the main street, and Peeta smiles and waves at the crowd. We look affectionate, but not in any way that may seem improper. I hold a couple of common children. Lady Glimmer, or something silly like that, congratulates me on my ability not to puke while holding peasant children. I make a note to make sure she is excluded from my court.

Peeta attempts to make conversation here and there, and I manage to answer his questions without getting too involved. I think it bothers him, but he never raises his voice so I continue with my yes and no answers and spend my time in the carriage looking out from the window.

There are a couple of ceremonies along the way. I take my place as the dutiful woman, holding Peeta's hand and smiling as he speaks to the crowd and pardons criminals. He's a natural at this, or at least he's better than me. He seems to be gracious enough. When he pardons a woman for stealing a loaf of bread, and quietly instructs a guard to give her some coins, noting to me that the children seemed thin, I finally understand why everybody loves him. He doesn't even make what he does public.

We spend most nights in separate bedrooms, tucked away in lavish rooms surrounded by our own guards and servants. Every once in a while though, we end up spending the night in the carriage. At first when I am told of the arrangement, I panic.

"Katniss," he wakes me up.

"I slept through something again?"

"That you did," he chuckles, "that you did. A servant got you situated like this. I've been making arrangements. I'm sorry for the conditions, I really am. I would never wish for you to have to do this. We were expected to be in Amerthirst by nightfall. I have a friend who lives there during these months, Lord Albernathy, he's on my council, anyways he has a lovely palace by this lake and we were expected to spend the night there. It's unsettling for everybody to see their future Queen like this, and I'm afraid we are going to have to spend the night in our carriage."

We will have to share our carriage? Did that mean that I would have to spend the night with him, alone, in the carriage? We were technically married, so I suppose it was proper, but still. They hadn't even had the ceremony. Oh god. What if he wanted to do that with me.

What if he took me forcefully. He had seemed nice and they had a good conversation, but he was too charming for me to really trust. He was my husband by law, so it would be his right to have that. He probably hadn't done "it" in a while and they were probably going to end up in tight quarters together. I panicked a little, my heartbeats increased and my breath hitched. I had known eventually when I married I would have to do that, it was my duty to give my husband a child, but at least I would have had time to prepare.

Maybe that's why he was so nice to me. Maybe that's why he made the point of assuring me our marriage was already held in the eyes of the priests and the people. He surely couldn't have predicted this, but perhaps he had been prepping for when we would end up at different estates along the way. He would be tired and bored from the journey, surely taking his wife carnally would be in his plans.

"Katniss," he says, placing his hand on my arm, "are you alright. You look a little pale. Would you like a servant to get you some water?"

I blanch, what do I say to that? I don't want to make it seem obvious that I'm revolted by the thought of sharing a bed with him.

"I think I just need to clear my head. This dress is getting a little stuffy," I say.

In the end he doesn't touch me. Not in that way, at least. He just wraps his hand against my waist and we both fall asleep to the sound of the road rumbling beneath us.

* * *

On the last day of our journey, Peeta and I spend the hours letting him teach me a game similar in some ways to checkers. It's called Chess. I'm not very good at it, but the manipulation reminds me of my own life. I'm the pawn in everybody's chess game. When I tell this to Peeta he laughs and reminds me that I'm the Queen. The strongest piece in the game.

I can see myself letting him in one day. When I know him, when I know what he wants from me, maybe, just maybe, we could have something together. Not love, I don't love in that way, it's not possible for people like me to feel that type of love. We could friends, though, someday, like he said he wanted. I can stitch up the scars of my heart and try at least, for the sake of my country's well being.

* * *

**Author's Note: What did you think? For those of you who worried, we are going to see a lot of strong warrior Katniss in the next few chapters. FYI, it's my birthday so I didn't get to write as much, but I rewrote this chapter from scratch several times. PLEASE tell me if you don't like something.**

**\- You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**

**\- I'm still looking for a beta that is good with grammar/content ideas.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the Hunger Games series. The Hunger Games trilogy is the property of Suzanne Collins and her publishers.**

The palace is enormous from what I have seen. It's decked in different colored marble, excessively gold covered statues and fixtures, and crystal chandeliers that are bigger than the trees back home. One hallway I pass through has a ceiling elaborately painted with different religious and historical scenes, adorned with gold details. Well lit chandeliers line the way every ten paces, their light reflecting against the marble framed ceiling to floor mirrors that we pass. Opulent chairs and benches covered in a dark blue and silver floral pattern line the halls. Usually they are filled with people, nobles or commoners who have been given access, but this portion of the castle has been set aside for the wedding ceremony.

Duchess Effie, the escort who has been given the prestigious position of aiding me through my transition to Capitol life, is an overly perky, manner obsessed woman in her late twenties. She's dressed in a ridiculous fashion. Bright blue dress that extends about five feet at the hips, matching three cornered hat adorned with an assortment of ribbons and feathers, and elbow length blue gloves that go perfectly with her light blue choker. She's terribly over done, but unlike some of the people here she seems to genuinely care.

Her gown is a hundred times nicer than my finest dress back home, but even it does not compare to what I am currently wearing. Eight layers of thick petticoats and crinoline, too tight stays, a light yellow silk cover petticoat that peeks through my gown, well made lace cuffs, soft pink buckled shoes with a slight heel embroidered with tiny yellow flowers, and a ruffled pink satin dress with a beautiful yellow floral stomacher. It's yet another one of Cinna's creations, and while it is not in any sense something that I would be interested in wearing, it is absolutely gorgeous. If only my sweet sister Prim could see me now.

Effie informs me, as she gives me a quick tour through the sumptuous palace, that the rumors I have heard are true. This palace, which is to some degree my property, sports over eighth hundred rooms, a ballroom of mirrors, and several hundred acres of gardens and courtyards.

"You know, Madame Katniss, you have a real opportunity here to set an example for those who are less fortunate that manners and grace do not only belong to those of a higher birth, look at you, you're from Seam and you will be the Queen of one of the greatest nations in history."

I wrinkle my nose. People who are struggling to make ends meet don't have the time for "grace" or "manners". She is so out of touch. I can't even blame her for being an idiot, even if she offhandedly insulted me. These people are incredibly weird. Bright colors, overdone hair, ridiculous outfits, and unnecessary manners. It's as if they have never left the walls of the Palace. I suppose this is what happens to people when they have excess amounts of food and money. Even the "poor" people here are wealthy in comparison to the people in my country. It's obscene, really. The bakers, shop owners, workers, etc. are considered the lower class. The nation is a lot wealthier than I had assumed.

I don't tell Effie this, though. I'm afraid if I say too much around these people they will mock me. They already think I'm uncivilized, I don't need to give them any more ammo.

"Of course. It is my duty to be an example for my people. We never really had the occasion in Seam, but I would love to learn more," I lie.

Her face softens, head tilting as she lifts up her hands in the odd clappy way that I have noticed people do here, "Oh, you poor dear. I can't imagine the life you had over there. Don't worry. You are one of the most important and well respected people in the world now. We will make sure to take good care of you here."

There is nothing for her to be sympathetic about. I had a very grand lifestyle compared to some of my people who starved and went without, but I'm fairly certain her definition of starvation is going two hours without a feast. I try to fit in though, and not say anything about what real suffering is.

"Oh, thank you. You have been a real help in the short time I have been here," I give a big bright fake smile and remember to take small ladylike steps as we near the door.

"What did you say we were here for again?" I don't remember her mentioning exactly why we were here but

"Katniss you shouldn't let," Effie falters for the first time,"Excuse me, Madame Katniss you should not allow yourself to be hurt by anything that may happen. She's a bit off of her wagon, if I may be allowed to speak about such an esteemed person in that manner. Katniss, uh, Her Majesty, the former and honored Queen of Panem has requested your presence. She would like to meet the woman her son has selected to rule our country."

* * *

Peeta warned me about his mother. He distinctly pointed out, probably the only negative comment towards someone or something he had ever made.

_"Katniss, you should be made aware that you will meet my mother eventually. My mother isn't all there, and she is not, to put it lightly, the nicest person in this world. Not to cause you to think of such ill things, but if she was not my mother her head would no longer be on her shoulders, if you get the meaning. She has committed crimes against her people. Her opinion of you is not valid by any degree. However, it should be made known that she has the ear of many a fine gossiper in the Capitol and she will not think well of you. Foolish rumors may be started by her. It is your position as a Queen to ignore these remarks. She will judge you on your position in the world, and she will make it known to you that she doesn't think kindly of my choice in a wife. Do not allow her to bother you."_

I hadn't thought much of it at the time, I assumed everybody thought poorly of their mother and while I had heard things about her I wasn't that worried about the opinions of some old hag. But now, as the woman sits before me, I start to worry.

She's not as old as I imagined, a little younger than my mother would be, although not as nearly as attractive. She is dressed from head to toe in black, the color of a widow still in mourning. Thin yellow blonde hair pulled back in uniform style, not a strand out of place beneath her elegant black hat. Her dead blue eyes may share the resemblance of her son's in terms of color, but they do not breathe the same type of life and sparkle that Peeta's do.

She's sitting on an emerald green parlor settee, a pink floral chair across from her that she motions for me to be seated on. I comply, anxiously noting that Effie has left me stranded here with only a handful of guards to protect me from this woman.

"You know, Katniss, I will call you that as I am currently hoping that he will revoke your status before the ceremony, or at the very least cause you to lose your head," she speaks up, her voice void of any emotion.

I knew she wasn't that great of a person, but I certainly expected for her to have some decorum to resist wishing my death without even knowing me. For a woman half my stature, she commands fear with every word.

"My son has banished me to this prison of a wing, so unfortunately I will be unable to attend your wedding. However, I would like to make it known that I do not approve in the slightest of your position here. My son is a love struck idiot with the sensibility of a parrot."

Love struck? Does that mean she believes the stories? Does it even matter. Her mocking tone drives anger down my spine, and I resist the urge to wrap my hands around her puny little neck by pushing town on my thumb with my hand.

"You know, it's treason, punishable by death, to speak of the King in that manner," I comment, straightening my back.

She rolls her eyes at me, "Peeta doesn't have the testicles for that. He's always been soft like his father, it's a real shame his brothers weren't able to take his place. They would have done a million times better at ruling this country than him."

I rise to Peeta's defense. Whatever he may be, from what I can tell he's an exceptional King.

"I think your son has done a great job at running this country. How can you deny that? Look around you, the country is in an exceptional state. It would be my advice not to anger me," I hiss, "I for one do not have any problem with telling Peeta that you should no longer reside here."

She changes the subject, "You know Katniss, I knew your unfortunately late mother before she turned out so messed up. Nightlock was it? How unfortunate for everybody involved. I truly send my sympathies towards your family. It must have been really hard to lose such a woman."

She knew my mother? I mean, I knew my mother grew up at the edge of Panem, and that her father was a simple noble, but I was unaware of any relationship between the two women.

"You knew my mother," I say wrinkling my forehead.

"Ah, yes. Pretty little thing, such beauty wasted. She could have had far more wealth if she had applied herself. Maybe then I wouldn't have a little slut like you in my palace. Your husband's father and I spent summers when we were young at your maternal family's estate. Maybe now that you aren't such a disappointment they will take interest in you."

Peeta's father knew my mother? My mother never mentioned anything about it, other than saying she thought Panem was well run. How odd, I'd have to mention it to Peeta.

"I didn't know that. Thank you for informing me."

"You're more like her than you would allow yourself to think. Although, at least in your case you seem to be a survivor. If there is anything positive to say about you, I do have to say I admire your streng-" she is interrupted as a red and gold clad messenger bursts through the door unannounced, causing the guards to bring their hands to their swords.

He raises his hands, "Sorry, I mean no harm towards their Majesties. I have been sent by our King to cut this meeting short immediately. She," he motions towards me,"is requested immediately in alterations.

Peeta has saved me.

**Author's Note: Okay, I really need a beta. Other than that, I'm worried that this is too rushed or that the story is going downhill and I would love your opinions. I really need to find a beta who is good with grammar/concepts.**

**Other than that, you call follow me at starveinsafety. I would love to answer any questions. Thanks for all the 'Happy Birthdays' I received. It was really sweet of all of you.**

**As far as Mrs. Mellark's behavior, I intended her to be a little of her hinges because she can basically get away with whatever. Although, we will see how Peeta deals with those that hurt Katniss. (Hint hint.)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own anything in the Hunger Games Trilogy universe. These characters and the books are the sole property of Suzanne Collins and her publishers. I only wish I owned this lovely trilogy, I would be on a hundred foot yacht in Hawaii right now chilling with Jennifer Lawrence if I did...**

* * *

I spend a few hours in alterations. It's terribly boring, but even then I still have to thank Peeta, because it's a million times better than being with that wretched woman. How on earth did somebody as diplomatic as Peeta come from that beast? His father must have been an angel to even that out.

The dress itself is very beautiful. Unlike most of the gowns that are in style, the dress does not go out ten feet at the hips. There's no expansion at the hips at all instead the dress sticks to a very traditional style. Off white silk, covered in gold embroidered flowers clings to the front of my body, flowing freely at my waist and descending into a twenty foot train. Along the neckline, diamonds line my breasts shining as the light from the windows casts a shadow on my skin. The cost for just the diamonds along my bosom could feed my entire country for a couple of years, that's not even counting the heavy assortment of diamonds and crystals that line the train.

"Duquesa Katniss," Cinna says to me, running his fingers through my hair as he plays around with different styles.

"Yes?" I say, trying not to move so I won't mess anything up.

"If you are worrying about the weight," - I was. The dress was a burden on my back and my arms ached from the jewels lined along the sleeves -"You will only be wearing it for the ceremony. I have designed other gowns an inch above the floor for dancing that only include will be significantly lighter. However, you will be wearing one of Panem's famed jewels, the Aphrodisiac of Taraxacum, a forty carat diamond along your neck for the procession. When I am given the authorization we can attempt to see how to place it in the most comfortable way."

Cinna makes me feel at home with his caring words. He's the only person here who I have met that seems normal and down to earth. He's soft spoken and doesn't carry the accent as harshly. When I am given the power, I will remember to honor him in some way for his good deeds.

It will be my position to reward and punish those in the court when I take my official place as Queen, two days after tomorrow's ceremony. I'm going to have the power to make people live and die, and it frightens me.

* * *

After alterations are complete, I am escorted by a servant girl into a long narrow room with dark velvety burgundy walls and carpets that appear to be from the East. Along the walls there are heavy mahogany bookshelves filled to the brim with different editions of classics. I run my hands along them as I pace throughout the room. Books are expensive. The official library in Seam probably had around this many, and this is just a random room. I wonder if I would be given access to the court's library. There had to be some benefit to being a Queen.

Somebody bursts through the door. It's Duchess Effie, in an outfit I have not yet seen. It is a bit more simple than any of her other dresses, just a pink silk dress with a rose covered stomacher. While the dress itself is simple, she has opted for a frame that brings her hips out to around five feet, occasionally brushing up against a vase as she flutters through the room.

"Madame Katniss, it is a pleasure to be reunited with you again," she smiles at me and gives a polite half curtsy. I don't smile back. I'm still annoyed that she left me with Peeta's deranged mother.

"Why am I here, Duchess?" I ask in a plain manner.

She perks up. "As your escort, it is my duty to instruct you on protocol. We have already gone over the basics of the ceremony, where you need to be and that sort. I would like to have the opportunity to work on your walk and manner today. Because of your upbringing I am afraid you aren't well instructed on the manners and customs that are accepted at the Capitol," she says motioning for me to sit on the light blue parlor chair across from her.

It's a bit insulting, and it makes me want to curse at her or be defiant but I know I have to be polite as I'm stuck here for the rest of my existence. It may not be iron bars, but this position and marriage will always be a prison.

"Of course, I'm very interested in the customs of Panem. It's beautiful."

"See, I knew you were a doll! What do they do in Seam again? Coal? You're like a little piece of coal, with enough pressure you can become the pearl of Panem."

It's a diamond, and it's a myth anyways but I don't bother correcting her. She seems quite satisfied with herself.

"Well, first of all. There should no fidgeting of your legs," she says, looking pointedly at my legs, which I have been swinging back and forth.

"I'm sorry," I bring my feet to a halt, allowing them to dangle against the floor.

"It's no problem, dear. We can't blame you for how you were raised. Here, take these two books and walk from the door to the window without allowing them to fall."

I'm not exactly sure what it's supposed to accomplish, but I take the books, The History of Panem: Volume 09 and Philosophies on Modern Gaming, place them on my head and easily walk from the door to the window without dropping the books.

It's not very hard. I'm a hunter and I have developed a light tread over the years of independently scouring the forests with Gale.

Gale. I wonder what he is doing now. I wonder if he misses me. I wonder if-

I'm cut off by Duchess Effie's excited claps. "Marvelous, marvelous! You have far more grace than I expected when you try! Where on earth did you learn to take such lovely steps?"

"Hunting in the woods with Gale," I answer honestly, hoping to get a kick out of her reaction.

She wrinkles her nose. "Hunting? Outside? I heard things but, oh-," she stops herself, "you turned out rather well from that type of life. Letting their beautiful daughter go traipsing through the woods with some male, it's a shame. You poor thing."

Her face once again rushes with sympathy due to things that are nothing to be sympathetic about.

"It's alright. My parents never particularly approved of my actions. But I enjoyed it, and Gale, he's the heir apparent and we were to be wed before this," I say, adding to the scandal of my hobbies. "He enjoyed it quite a bit too."

I know I'm alluding to something that never happened, the brush of my voice hints at something more sexual between my relationship with Gale, but it's fun playing with Duchess Effie's mind. She's not a gossip, so I will not be harmed by it and it makes all my other faults pale in comparison.

"Oh, why don't we stop this conversation and go through the the process of the ceremony one more time for memory's sake."

We end up spending the rest of the day going through maps, itineraries, and a long history of the wedding customs of Panem's royalty. At the end of it, I could probably write a book on the ceremony. It's incredibly complicated. In Seam we have much simpler and meaningful customs, a toasting for the bride and groom. A ball or celebration for the town if you are a noble or a wealthy merchant. We keep everything intimate and special, nothing is really for show. Although I suppose everything is more decorative when you have an abundance of money.

I don't think I'm ever going to get used to the extravagance.

* * *

When I lie in bed that night, I rub my hands along the soft fabric of the pale blue sheets, thinking about what tomorrow will bring for me. This is the last night I will spend alone (if you can call one maid on a pallet on the floor and two guards dutifully standing near the door "alone") in my own bed. By tomorrow night I will be sharing a bed with my husband on our wedding night. I've never done anything of that nature before, as a woman I have remained pure until my wedding. Peeta probably has had a lot of experience in that department. He has quite literally the most beautiful women in the world throwing themselves at him. I hope that his experience will make up for my lack. If he knows what to do, maybe it will not be as bad. I know it always hurts the first time, but some women joke about the pleasure that comes from sex.

Soon Peeta and I will be expected to have children. My main duty as his wife will be to give him a legal heir, a son. I've never particularly wanted to be a mother, even though I knew no matter who I married I would end up having to be one. Granted, any child of mine will be raised by a troop of nursemaids and nannies. I will not be expected to do a lot of mothering, which I suppose is a good thing as I can't imagine I would be very good at it.

It's gross, menstrual cycles, having a baby. Having some type of alien creature growing in your body, worst of all giving birth. Even if I survived childbirth I would have to deal with the aftermath of effects to my body.

Suddenly it all hits me, the wave of different emotions fell over my body in a raging storm. In order not to alert anybody, I soundlessly screamed into the pillow, beating my fists against the mattress. I didn't want this for my life! Why did he have to come here and take me away from Prim and everybody else? Oh, Prim, how I would give anything to see her face again. I sobbed into the pillow, wetting it with the salty tears and using my hand to wipe my face.

The momentary loss of control reminded me of the reality of the situation. I had spent the past few days deluding myself into forgetting about all the people I left home and what it would be like marrying this man. It was a lifelong sacrifice, and even though I had to suck up the tears and smile, I had to keep myself aware of everything. I couldn't let myself just go along with everybody pushing me around like this. I had to be strong. I couldn't be the little teenage girl from the backwards country that everybody saw.

I had to be a Queen.

* * *

**Katniss and Gale illegally hunt to provide for their families, they both get caught and because Katniss is a young female (which complicates a sentence that would usually be placed on a male) she is sent in front of the King (Peeta) for her sentence. I'm not going to give away the catch, but let's just say that his sentence is a bit unusual.**

**It's a lot more developed than it sounds, I already have the entire plot and relationship development mapped out. I just don't want to give away too much. As you can probably tell, I like King Peeta stories:) This was something I had in my head for a while and I would love to get it out there.**

**Special thanks to my beta, chicanita11! You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games Universe. All of the characters/places presented here from the books are not mine in any way. I did base the ballroom scene after a scene from Catching Fire, the second book in The Hunger Games Trilogy.**

* * *

 

I'm awoken by gentle shaking, by the black sleeve I can see through my slightly opened eye, and the soft timid voice saying, "Madame Katniss, it is time to wake up, Madame Katniss, you need to wake now," I can assume the maid has come to wake me.

I've slept through the night, and now it's the day I'll remember for the rest of my life. I'll look back on this day, the people will look back on this day, as one of the most important days in Panem's history. It's odd to be living the day you will remember forever. You'll always look back on these days and think, I should have done this or I'm glad I did that. But you can't change it. You only get to live it once. You only get one wedding day if you're a woman.

The maid shakes me again, this time a bit harder, "You have to wake up, Madame, it's your wedding day. You have to arrive at the chapel before the sun rises."

It's my wedding day.

Reluctantly, I open my eyes and gently rub them, "I'm awake," I tell the girl as I remove my bare legs from the comfort of the warm covers and throw them onto the cold wood floor.

"Where am I supposed to be?" I ask the girl, rolling down the white sleeves of my nightgown.

The servant girl that attends to me, is very attractive like the others. I must be getting the best maids, because of my role as future Queen. She reminds me a bit of Prim, not in coloring, she has dark skin and rough thick hair I'm not familiar with, but in stature. She's perched on obviously brand new black boots, looking like a little bird before it takes flight. She looks around Prim's age too, and it's comforting, especially on a day like this; to have a piece of home.

She looks up at me, obviously intimidated, "They will be here to prep you in a few minutes, as soon as I get somebody to make sure they know you have woken. I'm quick, so probably soon. Although, I'm not that quick. Thresh is the fastest of all of us. He works in the stables, but he's training to be a guard. He's good. Sae says he will get a position soon."

She says more than the other servants, more than the curt answers that I usually receive. It's nice, the childlike rambling innocence.

I've grown up so much in the past few weeks, and I've been surrounded by stuffy lifeless people that her bright youth and childish innocence is enjoyable to be around, I make a note in my head to make sure she stays in my court. My ladies in waiting have been chosen, not by me, but by others who have selected them for political and social qualities. I can, at the very least, have the ability to choose my maids.

I push myself back on to the covers, scooting on to the bed as the girl gives a hasty cutsy and turns to leave, her feet pushing off in flight.

"Wait," I call out, causing her to stop short and turn around slowly to me.

"Is there anything else you need, Madame?" she asks me, fidgeting as she is probably late to fetch those who will prep me.

"Yes, what's your name. Then you may get on with it."

She looks at me, confused as to why somebody like me would ask somebody like her for a name, "Rue. It's Rue."

"Thank You, you can run along now," I say motioning her towards the door. Rue. It's very fitting for her.

A few minutes pass before my prep team arrives, shuffling in wearing rather simple clothes, simple muslin gowns that I assume are temporary due to the masks of makeup and the hair that has been pinned up, waiting for a wig to be placed on it.

They lead me, wearing nothing but my nightgown, into the room that adjoins mine. It's set up like an oversized dressing room, rolls and rolls of lace and fabric line the wall where the windows are. Bright sunshine seeps through and cast a bright light on the opposing wall that is filled with numerous dressers and privacy screens, one with what appears to be my wedding dress placed over it.

The prep team makes me stand on a little platform, quickly slipping the nightgown over my head and forcing me into a choking corset. It's more attractive than the other ones I've worn,its solid white with tiny blue ribbons laced across the top.

"For the King's pleasure," Octavia says with a little wink that reminds me of what will come tonight.

They roll thin translucent stockings up my legs, held up with a garters that match my corset, and simple white pantaloons with that stupid blue lace on the covered bottoms. They tie me tightly into a simple hoop skirt, occasionally commenting on how lovely I look.

The rogue is simple, just a quick dab of red on my cheeks and two small diamonds uncomfortably attached to the sides of my eyes.

"Well," Octavia says as she runs her hands through my dark hair, running an iron through it to form curls that are fastened with gold lace ribbons. "This is where we part, Sir Cinna will be responsible for the dress and final touches. We have a limited time to prepare the event, so we will have to part, I'm afraid. Well wishes, my queen." She gives what is intended to be a solemn look, but it just comes out funny and I bite my lip to avoid laughing.

After the little troop leaves, I am left with only a handful of guards and a few servants, until Cinna burst through the doors, flustered.

"I apologize for being late, Madame. We had some issues securing the necklace," he motions towards the guards behind him, carrying a large wooden box that presumably carries the necklace I will wear today. They stand there on the opposite wall, never even glancing at Cinna, with the aid of a few servants, secures my wedding gown. It's heavier than I expected, the long train trails across the lush carpet of the room, I'm glad it's only a ceremony gown. I can handle it for the few hours that I must wear it.

Finally, when I am off the dressing platform, and ready at the door, the necklace is removed from the carved mahogany box and placed upon my neck. It's larger than I expected, and the rising sunlight lights up the room as it glints off of the jewels. It's has a massive oval diamond, one that could probably fund a few minor wars, surrounded by smaller red rubies and set in gold that matched the trimmings on my gown.

Several guards, dressed in their finest livery and probably hand selected for the duty, lead me out of my room and through the many halls of palace. There's a pathway that has been set aside for this purpose, and what appears to be merchants and similar commoners of status line the halls, whispering amongst themselves and throwing flowers and such at my feet as I pass. It's odd to think this will be a highlight of their life, seeing somebody like me.

Regardless of anything Peeta may say, I was not made to be a queen. I wasn't born to be somebody that important. I'm not like Prim or my mother. I don't care for functions or lace work. I'm not a lady in any sense.

Eventually our little group reaches the thirty foot exquisitely carved mahogany doors of the entrance to the gardens. I stand back, accompanied by two rather handsome guards decked in different medals, they are far too young to have been in a recent war, so I assume they are the younger sons of important lords that have taken their place in the service.

If I wasn't a bride. If I wasn't here. I would probably find their looks desirable, but that isn't my place as a wife.

When the doors are opened, the sounds of the bustling crowd of nobles that I could hear through the walls, falls silent at my presence. I look out at the courtyard before me, to my right and left there are nobles decked in extravagant gowns and livery that matches the pastel colors and bright greens of the surrounding gardens. At the end of the silk covered pathway, a golden blonde man stands at an altar.

It's Peeta, decked in gold breeches and a matching coat, a simple blue and silver medal across his left shoulder.

My breath hitches with nervousness as my mind swarms with fear. I force myself to take repetitive steps as we reach the end of the pathway, the guards support my steps as we walk up the cream marble steps to the raised covered platform. In front of me, a white haired priest covered from neck to toe in a rich red shift with gold trimmings, stands slightly above me over a gold plated altar that holds a single sheet of paper.

My marriage document.

It brings terror to me, and my breath inhales and exhales spastically, my raised breasts moving up and down across the neckline, patterned to the rising and falling of my chest.

I repeat it over in my head as they unhand me, removing their arms and dutifully standing to the side. My name is Katniss of the Everdeen House. I am going to be a Queen. I am going to marry King Peeta. I will be a dutiful wife and bear him children. My name is Katniss…

I barely even notice I closed my eyes, until I feel a little tap on my shoe. It's Peeta, I know it, he's the only person close enough to me, save for the elder Priest that is solemnly looking down at us from his altar. He's standing about two feet across from me, his gold coat waist swaying in the light breeze that lifts the edge of his golden locks from my his face, swaying them gently across his forehead.

It's odd to think that by tonight we will have consummated the marriage. I don't have time to fret over tonight's events, because the priest's voice bellows out to the crowd. Causing both of us to look forward, our eyes trained on the movement of the man's mouth.

"These two people have been brought before their people for the sake of joining two countries in holy matrimony under the presence of God. All here who stand before their beloved King, to join Duquesa Katniss Elisabeth Anise of the Everdeen House to the reigning Mellark House of Panem," the man pauses, his eyes moving out to the crowd of nobles, "Would King Peeta Edward Rye of the Mellark House please step forward and read the oath before him."

Peeta gives me a quick smile, his face bright and happy, void of the worry that seems to fill mine, and takes a step forward, his black boots making a hollow sound as they press against the floor.

"Behold my oath that I will take no woman besides Duquesa Katniss Elisabeth Anise of the Everdeen House," he gives a quick glance from the paper to meet his blue eyes to mine.

"Here I take Duquesa Katniss Elisbeth Anise of the Everdeen House as my wife, under the eyes of God and the people of Panem. That I may remain morally and physically faithful to my wife."

Peeta pauses, and looks up at the priest, who in return raises his voice, "King Peeta Edward Rye of the Mellark House, please sign your name under the oath of your people and your crown."

A servant boy around ten walks up to Peeta with a platter, lifting the silver cover to reveal a single fine burgundy pen that Peeta takes with a nod to the boy, reaching over and signing his name, which sends a screeching noise out towards the quiet crowd.

He turns to me and ceremoniously hands me the ink filled pen as the priest yet again raises his voice, "Would Katniss Elisabeth Anise of the Everdeen House please step forward and read the oath before her."

I obey, allowing the flower children to lift the train of my skirt as I take a single step towards the altar, meeting Peeta with a forced smile.

It takes everything in me not to puke.

My voice is shakey, "Here I take King Peeta Edward Rye of the Mellark House," I gulp and hesitantly continue, "as my husband, under the eyes of God and the people of Panem. That I may remain morally and physically faithful to husband, obedient under the house of King," I say as I hastily scribble my name to the left of Peeta's.

I've never been very good at obedience, but I no longer have the choice that I did when I was young in my father's house. I am a wife now. It is my duty to cater to Peeta's needs.

"May the country of Panem and God see this couple as husband and wife, blessed under the honorable court, that this couple is the reigning monarchy of Panem. Would King Peeta of the Mellark House, and his newly wed wife Queen Katniss of the Mellark House, please be crowned under the eyes of God and the people."

There it is. I am officially the Queen of Panem, and the wife of the King. I am no longer the property of my father, but instead I belong to Peeta's. To do with as he pleases.

Two bishops step from the sides of the platform, where they had previously been standing. Dressed similarly to the priest who has joined us in marriage, they simultaneously accept towering gold crowns from young servant boys dressed in light blue, placing the heavy pieces on to both of our heads with a bow.

I turn around from the priest, facing the walkway that had led me to the platform previously, as Peeta takes my hand and raises it to the crowd, which errupts with cheers in our direction.

Peeta lowers our hands and takes the first step down the marble platform, bringing me with him. I ignore the lump in my throat and take small ladylike steps once again down the pathway.

* * *

I am slipped into a different gown, a silver thing that rises two inches above the floor and expands six feet around my hips. It's perfect for dancing, and it fits right in with the crowd of Dukes and Ladies that fill the ballroom.

It's Cinna's words that force me to resolve my fears, "You looked visibly shaky out there. It is my job to help you make an impression, but you have to take your place, dear. When you go out there you need to shine. Laugh, smile, relax, act like a girl in love, everybody out there needs to know who you are to them. This is a deciding moment in your place as Queen. Make an impression on them."

I decide, at that moment, that I will do as he suggested and I suppress the lump in my throat, replacing it with the best carefree smile I can manage.

The party, held in the mirrored ballroom of the palace, has no equal. The forty-foot ceiling has been transformed into the night sky with the use of thick blue velvet tapestries and lights, the "stars" look exactly as they do at home. I suppose they look the same from the Capitol, but who would know? There has been too much light from the bustling palace to see the stars from the time I have spent here.

About halfway between the floor and the ceiling, musicians play soft music on round stone platforms. Traditional dining tables have been replaced by innumerable stuffed sofas and chairs, some surrounding fireplaces, others beside fragrant flower gardens or ponds filled with exotic fish, so that people can eat and drink and do whatever they please in the utmost comfort. There's a large tiled area in the center of the room that serves as everything from a dance floor, to a stage for the performers who come and go, to another spot to mingle with the flamboyantly dressed guests.

But the real star of the evening is the food. Tables laden with delicacies line the walls. Everything you can think of, and things you have never dreamed of, lie in wait. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures

drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads,vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames.

My appetite has returned with my' desire to fight back. After weeks of feeling too worried to eat, I'm famished.

"I want to taste everything in the room," I tell Peeta, who has been accompanying me as my newly appointed husband, his body next to mine through the entire night.

I can see him trying to read my expression, to figure out my transformation from the worried scattered girl at the ceremony. Since I have not spoken about my fears for tonight, he does not know that while I have put on a face, inside my heart and mind are stirring anxiously. Perhaps even that I have some genuine happiness at our matrimony. His eyes reflect his puzzlement but only briefly, because we're surrounded by the crowd of nobles.

"Then you'd better pace yourself," he says giving a brief wave towards a baron of some sorts.

"Okay, no more than one bite of each dish," I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups, when I encounter a creamy pumpkin brew sprinkled with slivered nuts and tiny black seeds. "I could just eat this all night!" I exclaim. But I don't.

I weaken again at a clear green broth that I can only describe as tasting like springtime,

and again when I try a frothy pink soup dotted with raspberries.

Faces appear, names are exchanged, smiles are faked, kisses brushed by his warm lips on to my cheeks. Peeta and I spend our wedding ceremony, talking with the higher nobles and smiling to the crowds. I've managed to keep myself together and gather my senses, but inside I'm breaking as the hours pass till midnight, when we will break from the crowd and share a bed.

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.

Every table presents new temptations, and even on my restricted one-taste-per-dish regimen, I begin filling up quickly. I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce.

Delicious.

But I hand the remainder to Peeta, which he eats dutifully, because I want to keep tasting things, and the idea of throwing away food, as I see so many people here doing so casually, is abhorrent to me. After about ten tables I'm stuffed, and we've only sampled a small number of the dishes available.

It's wonderful to me, but to Peeta it seems like a normal occurrence. It probably is here, for all I know.

Peeta sets the plate on one of the tables, giving me a bright giddy smile as he takes my hand in his.

"Come on, my dear, let's dance."

Music filters down from the balcony as he leads me away from the team, the table, and out onto the floor. The bustling flurry of light blues, salmon pinks, and sunlight yellows parts with the crowd as their King takes my hand and brings me to the center of the ballroom floor, the mirrored walls changing shade with the movement of the crowd as our bodies flow into the prepared waltz.

It was a simple dance, one I had practiced from an early age with one of my mother's ladies in waiting,

"I'm not a very good dancer, I'm afraid I have always had two left feet, you, on the other hand are quite graceful when you are in the mood," he says to me, his blue eyes twinkling as we take a simultaneous step, the silver fabric of my skirt hitting the gold of his jacket.

I give him my first genuine smile all night. It's true. He isn't a very good dancer.

"I may have the right natural inclinations for this, but I'm afraid I never paid a lot of attention during my lessons. We have the opposite problems, you know the steps, but lack the ability. I have the ability, but lack the knowledge. We make a rather odd pair on the dance floor."

He pulls his foot back as we take a step, "We make a rather odd pair in general. That's what is interesting about us, as a couple of course."

"Of course," I mutter, annoyed that he had to bring us up.

He must notice, because he frowns a bit as he speaks, "I noticed that you were upset during the ceremony."

"I wasn't upset, I was just nervous," I lie as the flowing music comes to a halt, and he gives a small bow to the crowd, leading me to the edge of the ballroom, his smile never faltering.

"You shouldn't bother to lie," he says, his soft hands running against the lace on my sleeve, "You aren't very good at it."

"I'm sorry I wasn't born as an innate liar," I scoff at him, regretting it almost immediately. I don't want to anger him when there is an hour until midnight. I don't need him to take it out on me tonight when we will be completely alone.

"I shouldn't have-," I start before being cut off.

"It's fine, Katniss, it's fine," he drops his hands from my sleeve, "I did not intend to insult you. Forget we ever spoke of this. Why don't we say our goodbyes before the night is over, we will be on our way soon enough," he says, his words reminding me of tonight's duties.

Every minute that passes, the closer I get to consummating my marriage. In a little over an hour, Peeta and I will have sexual relations.

* * *

 

**Author's Note: Special thanks to my beta chicanita11!**

**This chapter was a lot longer than the others:) Please feel free to leave constructive criticism I want to know what you think of the direction this story is going! I felt like parts of the chapter were emotionally off and a bit repetitive, I may be delusional though.**

**This ended up being over twice what my chapters usually are, and surprisingly I wrote all of it without stopping. It was a lot easier than previous chapters for some reason, and I cut out a lot of it.**

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own any of the Hunger Games characters, nor do I own anything else in the Hunger Games Trilogy universe. So don't sue me. In advance, this chapter has very mature themes. If you don't like that, please skip this chapter. Thank You.**

Peeta and I make a grand exit. When the clock finally strikes twelve, and midnight comes upon the party, the crowd parts for an aisle, allowing us, a newly wedded couple to walk through the pathway as they toss flowers and small jewelry, things like bracelets and rings towards our feet. I have to make a point to step around them.

 _How could anybody throw such precious things at the floor?_ I think, as I take a step, my slim arm linked through Peeta's, the hem of his gold jacket hitting my back.

It's yet another reminder of how extravagant this place is. I wonder, with horror, if sex is somehow different here. Not the act itself, I'm aware of the basics, but what if they do it like they do everything else? Will I be painted in gold powder or forced into feathered underwear?

I wonder if Peeta will have odd requests for me.

Everything about sex is a little odd to me, and I'm not familiar with a lot of the acts, but I can imagine that, growing up the the Capitol, he will have different things he expects of me.

A lump forms in my throat as I think about it. I can't act disgusted by anything, I know men don't like that. I have to accept my duty as his wife. He is not only my husband, but my King. He has every right to do what he pleases with me tonight, and I cannot make any protest.

I'm not a very good liar, so my performance will probably be lacking, but I've never done anything like this before.

Peeta breaks me from my thoughts, his bright blue eyes shining as he places his soft lips against my forehead, pressing his arms against my waist and then releasing me from his grip, my shoes fumbling against the black and white checked floors of the small hallway. The doors of the ballroom make a thud as they are closed, the sounds of the crowd hushed by the separation.

"Katniss," he says to me, "Sweetheart?"

My head is turned to the floor, and I'm awkwardly tapping the ends of my shoes against the floor. Probably scuffing my wedding shoes as I do this. When they box them up, perhaps one day ending up in a museum, I wonder what they will think of my inability to keep a pair of shoes decent for one night. My mother for one, would not be proud.

"Yes, Peeta," I squeak out nervously. Wondering where we go from here. The King's wing is fairly close from this side of the palace.

He brushes his fingers against my palm, "Your prep team is going to take you from here, alright?," he kisses my forehead again and nods towards the little troop that I had been to worried to notice, " _I'll see you soon."_

* * *

His words burn through my thoughts as I am shuffled through numerous chambers and hallways by my prep team.

' _I'll see you soon.'_

Peeta and I are going to have sex. It consumes my thoughts with an unnerving sense of peril as we enter a small dressing room. It's a lot like the previous one in the way it is set up, but the fixtures seem a lot more permanent. The walls are covered in gold plated molding, appealing scenes of cherubs seemingly dining accompanied by flowers fit the towering frames that line the walls from floor to ceiling, cream walls peeking through. Arched doorways with tied back curtains lead to little covens situated in the room, mirrors and matching floral gold parlor chairs fit them. Harps and tables fit the elaborate room, leaving a space for the raised platform, made for dressing, where I currently stand.

The room is well lit, four chandeliers cast their golden light on the room. On the wall farthest from the window, shelves with numerous different sized drawers lining about ten feet.

The prep team silently removes most of my clothing, leaving only my blue ribboned underclothes on it. I figured it would also be removed, as it usually is before I am prepped for bed, but Octavia had said it was for Peeta's pleasure. Although I'm not sure why he would prefer for me to wear underclothes, if they are going to be removed anyways.

But at least I'm not being painted gold. That is a relief.

"What is this place," I ask Octavia as she pulls the laced garters back into their original position, running my pantaloons down.

She looks up at me, biting her lip in confusion, "You don't know?"

I wrinkle my forehead, "Am I supposed to know?"

I haven't exactly been paying attention to Effie's lessons on all of the rooms in the palace, so it wouldn't be a stretch to say this has already been taught to me.

"Your majesty, this is your dressing room. It's quite famous amongst the nobles as the place where the current Queen has her private hours of dressing and reflection, it is next to the most intimate and important room in the palace, the royal chamber. His majesty has a similar quarter across from the bedroom. You see that door over there?," she points to a small gilded door about twenty paces to my left, slipping what is assumedly a nightgown over my head.

"Yes," I say impatiently.

"That leads to the Royal chamber, your majesty. Of course you already know this, " I didn't know this, but I didn't speak up, "That is the only place where the King and Queen may be legally allowed to be unaccompanied. I'm sure you will enjoy the privacy," she says with a knowing wink.

It was nice to know that no guards or maids would be allowed in the room where we would be doing  _that,_ but the knowledge that my consummation was only twenty paces away frightened me.

* * *

After a few adjustments and stitches by my prep team, Octavia speaks up.

"Here you go," she says to me, smoothing out the lines of my night dress and taking my hand into hers.

"Your majesty, I'm afraid this is where we part ways. May I wish you blessings on your wedding night," she says causing the rest of the prep team to giggle as she tugs me towards the door that filled my body with dread.

Allowing one of the red and gold covered guards to open the doors, she gives me a gentle push into the room.

"I'll see you in the morning, yet again may I emphasize my blessings. I hope you have a fertile marriage, my Queen," she says giving me curtsy and allowing the door to be closed.

 _Traitor._  Leaving me here like this, even if she knew nothing better, leaving me here is bothersome.

I look out into the room, the royal chamber is small for a room at the palace, although that is probably the point of it. It's the only place in the entire palace where I will be left without several maids and a dozen guards to accompany me.

The first thing I notice about the room is that I'm alone. There is no sign of Peeta to be found.

He must be late, or perhaps, just maybe, I hope that he has decided not to join me on our wedding night. Not that it's even possible, but I can dream.

The room is covered in the country's signature colors, red and gold. The walls are covered in rich patterned tapestries of red, with gold and green fauna. Several gold gilded chairs don red velvet with gold embroidery. The bed, our bed, a tall four poster with a pulled back canopy, sports gold and red bedding that matches the canopy's curtains. This room, unlike the previous, is dim. The chandelier that I can faintly make out on the tall ceilings is not lit, only a single lamp on a nightstand and the light from the doorway remains.

Having nothing else to do, and being unsure of my surroundings I cautiously sit down on the edge of the bed, my feet dangling over the edge. After weeks of never being alone, it's a bit odd to be in solitude.

I spend a few minutes just lying back on the bed, eventually removing the covers and sliding my body into the cool sheets. As minutes pass, my worry increases to Peeta's whereabouts. Perhaps he really has abandoned me on our wedding night, maybe to enjoy the company of another.

But alas, even as I am thinking thoughts of what women he may be enjoying, somebody bursts through the door on the opposite side of the room.

Peeta.

He's no longer dressed in the finery he wore during the day, instead he is in simple white nightclothes. His manner of dress causes me to flush bright red. I've never seen a grown man in nightclothes.

"Katniss," he says stepping onto the bed and pulling himself next to me, his body making an indent into the feathers of the mattress, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I had business to attend to, nothing of matter to you, but it did keep me busy for a lengthy amount of time on a rather unfortunate day."

"It's alright," I say, casting my glance downwards and playing with the trim of the covers.

Peeta slips farther into the covers, bringing himself to a complete flat position and turning himself into the pillow, a sleeping position that I often find myself in.

The silence is awkward, and I'm not sure how to proceed, so I just sit there, continuing to run my fingers over the brocade as he reaches over and turns out the lamp next to him, darkness flooding the room.

"I'm not-," my voice shakes with nervousness, "I'm not, I'm not exactly sure what to do. So, um- if you could maybe be the one to start, that would be nice," I say in the direction of his still form.

He turns his body towards me, not speaking he pulls town my pillow, motioning for me to lie down on it.

"We don't have to do anything tonight," he says, his voice raspy, "Go to sleep, Katniss."

A million emotions flood my brain. First, relief over the fact that I don't have to do anything tonight, and then nervousness over the reality of the situation before me.

"You, you don't want to  _be_  with me?"

He reaches across the bed and runs his thumb against my cheek, "It's not that at all. Of course I do, I don't, however, want you to feel the need to be with me in that manner without wanting it. That can wait for later times."

Stupid, stupid Peeta. How could he be so nice, so willing about this? Did he not understand the situation. Even I did, and I feared tonight with a passion.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said scowling at him.

"I thought you would be glad that you didn't have to do anything tonight," he says to me, his voice soft and timid.

"I am, I mean, I'm not. I just. You know what will come of this if we don't. It's our duty. How do you think your little lovers thing is going to work if we wait to do  _this_? Don't you know what they will say? And tonight, tomorrow, a year from now. Does it really make a difference? We have to do it eventually, and we might as well get it over with now," I plead with him, barely believing that I am advocating for the thing I have dreaded.

He pauses, considering what I am saying to him.

"If this is what you want," he says to me, pulling himself closer.

"It's what we need to do," I plead to him, catching the side of his cheek with my hand.

"Okay, Katniss, Okay."

Yet again, silence fills the room.

"Do you want to start or..," I say, unsure of what to do.

He reaches over my body and pulls himself over me, arms propping himself up. I hadn't imagined that having a man on top of me would be so crushing, though I hadn't thought much of the actions itself at all.

He lowers his head to me, and places his lips on mine. It's an odd wet sensation, but it's not entirely bad. I can imagine the action being pleasant.

Running his hands along my thighs, he breaks our lips apart as he pushes the fabric of my nightgown up to my knees.

"Is this alright," he says, looking for reassurance.

I give him the nod he is looking for, which causes him to pull the nightgown farther up, I prop my body upwards in response, allowing for him to slip it over my head and cast it to the floor. All I am now wearing is my front laced corset, stockings, and pantaloons. No man in my existence, has even seen me like this in an intimate setting.

Next he silently reaches along my legs and rolls the stockings down my legs, taking the blue laced garter with them before pulling himself back to my chest and pressing his lips against my cheek, "Do you want to, or may I?" he asks, running his hands along the side of the corset.

"Um, you can if you would like to. Uh, it laces in the front. You just pull the strings at the bottom and-," he cuts me short, lowering his hands hesitantly to the strings.

"I know, I'm aware of how it works."

Stupid, stupid, Katniss. Of course he does. He has probably had quite a bit of practice with women. The thought of Peeta with some pretty little Capitol blonde agitates me and I briefly scowl, which he notices, causing him to speak up.

"Katniss, if you don't want to do this. We can stop now. I'm not sure if we go any further if I could handle that."

I bite my lip, "No. I don't want to stop, just go."

His hands are slow and cautious as he makes his way through the laces, loosening the corset and exposing my breasts to the air. I let out a moan of relief at the removal of the tight stays, which seems to unnaturally spur him on and he tosses the article off of the bed, causing me to cover my breasts.

He slips his hands over mine, nudging them away from my body and placing a quick kiss on my lips, "Don't do that," he runs his hands gently along the edges of my body, his fingers sliding against my nipples.

"You're beautiful."

I'm not beautiful, although I'm certainly not ugly. And my small breasts certainly aren't desirable, but it's a nice comment for him to make.

Peeta slides his body a few inches down the bed, lowering his face against my chest, and bringing his lips against my nipples. It feels very very odd, but at the same time pleasant. So I don't say anything, and I allow him to continue placing kisses against me. He continues to lower his body, trailing his kisses down my stomach before stopping at the waist of the pantaloons.

He looks up at me, meeting his eyes with mine and placing his hands on the waistband, "You're not going to enjoy it, at least, not the first time."

"Does that matter?," I had never thought of this as something pleasurable for us to do. This was my duty. It wasn't about enjoyment.

"It does to me. You will get used to it after a while, but there is something I want to try with you. Can I remove these?," he nods towards the only piece of clothing that I remain in.

"Of course you may, Peeta," I say, allowing for him to slip it off my legs, exposing the entirety of my body to him.

**Author's Note: There you go! I am sending this to you now, freshly typed, because I want to get this out as soon as possible. I haven't had wifi for the past week, which is why I haven't updated the story. I'm really sorry about that, so I wanted to give all of my readers this chapter.**

**If you read Second Chances, I already have half of that chapter written and will be updating soon!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**

**Also, just a fanfic recommendation. If you haven't already, I would recommend you read "When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun." If you like this story, you will probably (and I'm not sure how you could not) LOVE this one. Trust me, leave this chapter right now and go read this fanfic.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this work of fiction, nor do I own anything related to the Hunger Games Trilogy. That is the property of Suzanne Collins.**

Peeta slides his hand across the curves of my waist, his golden locks lowering towards my body as his cheeks flood with an unexplainable heat. Wetness builds between my legs, as it does on the nights I have curiously attempted to take the advice of giggling maidens on how to get the feeling of sex. The bed coverings hide the lower parts of my legs, I am thankful for the lack of light in the room. It isn't much, the shadows of the bright lights in the accompanying rooms don't allow for complete darkness, but it is something. I could never be this intimate with Peeta, I don't think I could live it down, if the lamps were still on.

"What are you doing?" I question him, as he once again lowers his head towards my body, his fingers brushing against my inner thigh, causing a gasp to rise from my throat.

He looks up at me, his voice hoarse. "Do you trust me, Katniss?"

I don't respond to him. I'm not entirely sure if I trust him at all, but telling him that would ruin any progress we have made.

He catches on to my hesitation to respond, and simply says, "You're going to have to trust me. I promise you will like it."

I'm not entirely sure if I will, but I allow him to continue. He continues to place soft gentle kisses along the tender bare skin of my intimate places, his mouth reaching closer towards the spot where I suddenly realize I want him most. It's an odd thing to do, and I wonder if it's only practiced here, or if they practice this thing at home. I try not to overthink it and allow myself to focus only on the sensation of lust and want that fills me.

The edges of my body are filled with a mixture of shock and pleasure as his mouth dips into the heated part of my body, the wetness which must be his tongue flicks over the nub I have explored on occasion at night. Although, my fingers have surely never been this pleasant. I lose myself in the newly discovered sensations, arching my back and throwing my head against the pillow. My hands almost instinctively pull on his locks; with every movement of his mouth my muscles tighten, a need I have never felt before pulls at my core.

"Oh, Peeta," I murmur as the feeling intensifies.

He pauses for a moment, and looks up at me, causing this moment of lust to become awkward as I realize this man has done something to me that I didn't even know existed, "Is this alright?"

I look at him with a baffled look; of course it's alright. It's far more than alright, "Don't stop," I plead with him, "Please, Peeta..."

The corners of his mouth are raised in a smile as he returns to my body, a single finger slipping into my core. It's a tight sensation, and it barely quells the need I feel in this moment. It isn't long before I reach completion, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress, the other digging into the sheets. Every nerve in body seems to light up, and then almost simultaneously dim as I am brought to the feeling that I had never reached on my own.

"That had to be…" Peeta says, pulling up his body next to mine.

"Yeah," I say awkwardly, my face flushed as I pull the sheets above my chest.

"If we want, I mean, if you want, we can stop now. We don't have to go any further," he says to me, pulling my hand to his mouth and kissing it gently.

"What would the point be of this if we never go through with it. We've already started, might as well- I mean, I'm fine. Thanks, you know, for that," I stumble with my words and cast my gaze towards twiddling a loose thread with my fingers.

He smiles at me, instantaneously pulling my body over his, so that my bare chest lays against his.

My eyes stare into the bright blue abyss of his irises as we lie there silent for a moment, not moving or speaking, just staring into each other's eyes.

"You know," he says breaking the silence, "I heard about the conversation you had with my mother."

I fall slack against him, wondering if he is angry with me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He cuts me off, "It's perfectly alright Katniss. Whatever you said to her, it doesn't matter. I only wish to let you know that if she bothers you, I can have her removed if that would please you."

"Removed?" I question him, my heartbeat quickening at the implications. The woman hadn't been an exceptional welcoming committee and I had heard of some of the things she had done, but I didn't wish for her death. And even then, if he had kept her alive and well for this long, why would my opinion mean anything towards the decision to get rid of her? Did he honestly think I would be pleased by having everyone who looked at me wrong killed?

He runs his fingertips against the palm of my hand, it must be a nervous habit of sorts because he seems to do it every time something gets heated, "Removed in the way you are implying, if that is what you wish for. Or if not that, I could simply take her away from the Capitol."

"But she's your mother," I say foolishly. It's a stupid comment, I'm aware of the way royal familial relationships worked. I'm aware of the way my relationship would be with any future children. 'Mother' didn't mean much here.

"She is, and that is why I have protected her from being convicted of the crimes she has committed. Trust me, there is enough to bury her. But Katniss, perhaps things are different where you come from, but my mother and I were never close. The opposite, actually. I grew up and spent the first nine years of my life in the country far away from my mother. You, however, are my wife, and I do not wish for you to feel uncomfortable or more importantly,

unsafe, because of her presence."

"Unsafe?" I question. I hadn't expected for my life to be in danger quite yet.

"My mother is a cruel woman. I wouldn't put it past her to try something," he starts, catching my startled expression, "not that you are in any danger of the moment. You shouldn't worry at all. You know, maybe my mother isn't appropriate conversation while my wife is bare in my bed," he says, shifting our bodies so that I am lying on my back with him hovering against me, his thing quite obviously brushing against me through the thin night clothes.

It's all very fast and sudden, and once again his lips are pressed against my neck, the action filling me with hesitation about what is to come.

"Can I kiss you," Peeta asks, running his hands against my bare sides. The tips of his fingers stroking my side.

"Of course," I say to him, "you're my husband."

He sighs into my chest and I wrap my arms around his neck as he pulls me into a kiss, a smile on his lips as he slips his tongue into my mouth. We remain like that for what seems like hours, each kiss providing more fuel for the fire that burns in me. I'm not particularly well versed on the subject of kissing, but this kiss calms by body and removes every doubt in my mind about what we are doing.

"I think, maybe you should, you know," I say, my voice tinged with breathy pants and my face filled with a smile.

"I should what?" he says in a teasing voice as he briefly kisses me.

"You know, remove your clothes," I murmur squeamishly. Peeta only laughs into my shoulder and he pulls me into another long passionate kiss, throwing his shift to the floor.

* * *

The night goes a bit more awkwardly after that, and pain consumes me as he enters me. It's an odd filling sensation, one that continually dulls with every thrust. I bite my lip, focusing on that instead of Peeta's groans or the tension in the room as he finally settles. It's not a particularly remarkable event, certainly not something worthy of the praise I had heard. I would prefer his mouth on any day, but it does bring peace to my mind in knowing that he was aware of my virginity and that the country will not view me as a useless wife.

Later that night, when we have slipped back into our night clothes and are lying in the bed, a foot between us as we fall asleep, he whispers to me, "It will get enjoyable as it goes by, trust me."

* * *

I am awoken that morning by the faint sound of what seems to be drums and maybe a trumpet coming from the wall that the bed is against. Although I must be crazy, it isn't plausible that music could be coming from there, there are no windows on that side of the room and it certainly isn't coming from across the hall.

The arm draped around my waist, Peeta, shifts and pulls me closer to him, causing pain to radiate through my sore body and bringing the thoughts of last night's event to my mind. It's weird and wrong to think of what we had done, even if he was my husband. We had only met a couple of weeks ago.

"Peeta," I say, tugging at the sleeve of his shift. "Peeta, wake up," I turn towards his direction and this time whisper it in his ear.

"Katniss," he says with a yawn as he removes his hand from my waist, stretching a bit and rolling over into his pillow.

"There are noises," I tell him, "Music, and is that shouting? Do you hear that?"

He sighs back into his pillow and pulls the blankets to his shoulder, "Oh, that's just the parade. You can go back to sleep."

"Parade?" I say, alarmed, "How is there a parade? Is it outdoors?"

"Oh, no. It's in the main hall. It's not the magnitude of Capitol street parades, but the band plays and they throw streamers and sweets and performers come through. It's really for the children, though."

A parade? In a building? It's a bizarre concept, and I can imagine the way Gale would scoff at this. 'Oh Katniss,' he would say, 'Are there really people who have parades inside palaces while others starve?' Gale was quite critical of not only the noble class that he belonged to, but the extravagance of other nations, Panem in particular. I had heard on occasion several rants about some of the parties held here.

He wasn't wrong. It's a bit sickening to have a parade indoors, even if the hallway was quite large.

"Is it for the wedding?" I ask the sleepy figure, "That was yesterday, why are they still holding events?"

I knew Panem had several feasts for weddings in events, but I didn't imagine a parade would happen the next day. In Seam we kept our celebrations to one day, except for the harvest festival and winter solstice.

"Oh, they are holding feasts and balls and parades all week, Katniss, didn't Effie inform you of the schedule?"

Effie probably did, and I don't want to get her in trouble with the King, so I cover for her. I have heard that favor in Panem's court is easy to break.

"Oh yes, I do believe she did. We aren't expected to attend, are we?"

"Why," he says in a groggy voice, rolling over to face me, "You don't want to go, do you? And while we are expected to pop in once in a while, we couldn't possibly attend all of the events. Of course, if you would like, we can attend the next parade. I didn't know you enjoyed them?"

"Oh, I don't really, just curious. We have the week off?" I question him pulling myself up and sitting against the plush pillows. The sunlight streams into the room and casts a checkered pattern on Peeta's hair.

"We do have this week off, and then, of course, when we take our honeymoon we can act in leisure. Perhaps we should get up and get on with the day, I was hoping to show you something, my dear wife," he says, his face lighting up with childish glee.

**Yes, I know I haven't updated in almost a month. I have some good excuses (mid terms, I was on vacation until the 13th, essays I had to write, etc.) I will be free for a while so it will be updated pretty soon. I know this chapter is pretty short, but I had to cut it off here because the next scene is really important for their relationship and doesn't belong with the wedding night.**

**In the time/world that this is based on, Katniss would have been expected to have sex with Peeta on their wedding night. If they didn't, people would talk and their marriage would not be solidified. There may even be grounds for divorce as the marriage would not be concrete in legal terms. Katniss's main role as Queen is to give birth to Peeta's children, and the lack of sexual interaction on the wedding night would have not looked good for their future as parents.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Hunger Games trilogy universe, all of that goes to the respective owners.**

Peeta and I are pulled into our respective chambers to be dressed. My prep team is fairly silent, their dark circles and lack of giggling a sure sign of last night's partying. They slip me into simple petticoats and loose stays. Common hoops are put on next, a silver dress petticoat layered over that. The over dress itself is nothing special, nicer than most of my clothes back home, but nothing special in the Capitol. It's a rich purple with silver flowers embroidered along the stomacher and hemline.

From the skirt's length, I can make the assumption that whatever we are going to do today involves nature, as the hemline rests above the soft white leather shoes.

"Your majesty, may you take my hand," Octavia speaks up as she finishes lacing the back of my over dress.

I slip my hand into hers as she helps me down and leads us towards a side door. It doesn't lead to the hallway that I remember from last night, instead there is a small passageway with stairs leading down to some sort of landing. One of the guards carries a lantern down, leading the way.

"I'm afraid that this was not designed in a time when the skirts were large, so you're going to have to squeeze a bit," Octavia says as she guides me down the stairs, which are indeed a fit for the skirts I am wearing. I can't imagine using these with one of the fashionable full skirts that I had seen some of the ladies wearing. It must be a real chore to navigate through doorways in those things. I was not looking forward to wearing any of those.

At the end of the staircase, there is an open passageway. It's not nearly as opulent as the other parts of the palace, but the stone walls and slate floors are from from plain. The passageway is fairly empty, other than the candles lining the walls there is nothing else in here. No furniture or decorations, just the occasional turn in the pathway.

"What are these for?" I question Octavia.

"Oh, these were designed when the palace was built. A way for the highest nobles to move around the palace discreetly without having to make a scene by walking through the main hallways. It's the quickest way around the palace."

"Are there any rooms here?" I ask, making sure not to trip as we made a turn into another hallway.

"A couple, not many. It's hidden amongst the public sections of the palace, so there isn't much room. There are a few rooms for guards and servants, only the ones who deal with the royal family, of course," she is quick to reassure me, "You wouldn't come across any common kitchen maids down here, so don't worry."

There seems to be some sort of hierarchy in the palace amongst the servants. Women like Octavia who work closely with the royal family seem to have higher honors than some of the common nobles, perhaps they had come from noble families and had been trained for this. Of course, Octavia worked with my clothing. The maids who served tea and fetched things for me, who were dressed finely and always beautiful, also seemed to have a high position. It was odd to think that it was some sort of high honor to work with me. The servants in Seam were pretty much all on the same level, unless they were in charge of a section, like the head keeper and the cook. The lowest servants from the disdain in Octavia's voice, must have been the scullery and kitchen maids.

We trudge up a few flights of stairs until the guards before us finally stop as we reach a closed wooden door. Two of them open the doors and allow Octavia and me to enter the room. It's not one of the ordinary palace rooms, it appears to be some sort of greenhouse. The ceilings and the walls are mostly clear class, only the white structure obscuring the view of the sky. From the muggy feeling of the air and the plants that line the structure, I can assume that I am correct in my assumption.

"This is where we part," Octavia says with a curtsy, exiting the room with a flourish and allowing them to close the doors. The guards remain posted at the doors.

"Katniss," a voice says, coming somewhere from my left. I look at one of the guards and he nods, motioning for me to go ahead.

The room is larger than I expected, and it forms a sort of maze as I follow the voice through azaleas and what appear to be daffodils.

There crouched against a wall of flowers is a familiar blonde head.

Peeta.

He turns around as I step closer, a bright grin on his face as he motions for me to sit next to him. I step forward and I awkwardly plop down beside him on the ground, my dress splayed across the floor in an unladylike manner, my legs showing in the open. I fuss with them for a moment before Peeta stops me by placing his hand on my thigh.

"Don't bother with that, the guards will keep their distance and nobody else is here but us. And I've already seen far more than that of you," he says, running his fingers against my side in a comforting manner before removing them and motioning towards the flowers, "Here, look at this. They are climbing roses, imported from the west. What do you think?"

I'm not particularly keen on flowering plants that aren't useful, but I try to have interest in his hobby, "They are pretty," I reply carefully.

"That they are, much like you," he says, causing me to blush, "You are named after a plant, aren't you?"

"I am."

"I would like to have your plant form here, I will have to add that to my list. Do they grow natively in your land? I have been unable to find them," he says fumbling with the lace of my sleeve.

"I guess, I'm not really sure about any of that," I answer honestly.

"Sorry, sometimes I forget I'm the only person who really cares about any of this stuff," he runs a hand through his hair nervously.

I give a soft sigh, "It's not that I don't care, I'm just sure about any of the origins. I have a plant book with me, not on flowers, it's mainly on edible things. I brought it with my trunk from home."

"Really," he brightens slightly at this, "Perhaps I could look at it one day."

"Of course you can," I say. He is my husband, he can do whatever he pleases with me, "Where are we anyways."

"Oh," he says, "We are on the roof of the place."

"The roof! But that's so high up?"

"Yes it is, perfect for the plants. This was a rose garden during Snow's reign, we took all of those out and replaced them."

"Do you spend a lot of time here?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Yes," he says, shifting his body towards mine, so that he is facing me instead of the flowers. "Remember what I said about painting," I nod at him, "You look lovely right now in the natural light, I should keep some paints up here. Would you mind that? If I brought you up here one day to paint?"

It's a bit annoying how he does that, pretends like I have any real choice in the matter. We both know that he could remove my head from my shoulders if he felt like it.

"Of course. I think that would be very interesting," I lie, biting my lip.

"You," he pauses, pulling his hands around my back and pushing our bodies to the floor, "are not a very convincing liar, sweetheart."

Fear runs through me for a second, wondering if he is angry with me, but that stops when he pulls me into a kiss. He presses his hands against the wall to steady us and pushes our bodies against the white stone of the flooring. My right leg latches around his as the hoops of my dress are misshapen against his body.

I pull away for a second as my head clears and I think about the situation,. "Somebody could see us," I remind him.

He pulls a soft brunette ringlet away from my neck, "The guards can't see us through the foliage, they have been instructed to keep their distance, and we are the only ones up here," he says continuing his assault on my lips.

This is the first kiss where I actually feel a stirring in my chest, a lust, as some may call it burning through my body. I feel the incredible need to just take in Peeta, and I wrap my arms around the sides of his body, grasping him as we kiss.

* * *

When we finally part and remove our bodies from the flooring, Peeta offers to bring me on a tour through the little greenhouse.

"I could show you around, if you would like," he says, slipping his dark jacket off and placing it one of the benches. He will probably never come back for it, what would he care for a simple silk jacket?

I nod at him, smiling and slipping my hand through the arm that is waiting for me.

"The indoor gardens were built by Snow, which of course is a part of our country's history that perhaps should be left untouched, as we are having a pleasant evening," Peeta starts as we walk along the pathways in the greenhouse, "There are two 'wings', the one that we are currently in, as you can probably tell, is meant for decorative plants and flowers. This is why there are benches along these ways, so that you may enjoy the plant life. I often come up here to sketch or write."

He pulls me past the entrance, nodding at the guards stationed there, before turning into what must be the other wing of the greenhouse.

"This side is meant for more practical plants," he says, pausing to touch some sort of fruit, "It's a sampling of all the different edible and medicinal plants that are able to grow in our country. I must admit, I don't spend that much time over here, but if you would like, you are free to enjoy it," he says, pausing to sit on a marble bench, and pulling me down to sit next to him, my skirts once again, flailing about in an unladylike manner.

"Is this open to the public?" I ask, noting that the was right, we are the only two people here.

He audibly laughs, pulling me towards him and squeezing my body in a sort of hug, "Oh, Katniss," he says, "Of course not. The only person who is allowed here is the direct royal family, which as of now only includes the two of us. Unless you count my mother, who isn't allowed outside of quarters."

It's a bit condescending, but I brush it off with a scowl. His mother, I had nearly forgotten about last night's conversation, with everything that had taken place.

"About you mother," I pause, uncertain of how to word it, "While I appreciate it, I don't wish any harm to fall on her."

He slips his hand around mine and tightly grasps it before turning to look me in the eyes, "I'm aware, I took care of the orders this morning. She is to be shipped off to the countryside. I promise that nothing ill will happen to her there, but all contact will have to be severed, for your protection."

I squeeze his hand a little, "Don't you think that's a little over the top, I can't imagine she'd do anything. She is your family, after all-"

He cuts me off, "She is my mother, that is not something I can change. However, she is not my family. You are."

"Me?" I question, looking at the man I have known for only a handful of weeks.

"Of course," he says, shifting a little bit so that my back is against his body, "I had very little to do with her until I was well into the middle of my life, and even then, the majority of the years I have spent with her involved her tearing my country apart or having to lock her away. Even though we have been married very shortly, you are my wife, my companion. You will share my bed and carry my children, and that means far more than anything else. At the present, you are my only family and you are by far, the most important person in my life. That is all that matters, and because of your importance, I must be able to put everything aside, even my mother, for your protection and safety," he sighs and runs a hand through his golden locks, "Come, lie down against me."

* * *

Peeta and I spend the rest of the afternoon on the roof, my head lies against his body as he points out different plants and paints a rich history of the different flowers and plants, and how they aided Panem's different economic system. In theory, it would be a quite boring lesson, but Peeta has a way of making anything sound interesting, and the way he speaks passionately about the various plants enthralls me.

I allow him to steal a couple of chaste kisses throughout the day, and when we return to our beds that evening I don't mind in the slightest when that kissing morphs into his heated mouth against my intimate places. We don't go any further than that, and he doesn't ask for me to return the favor, but when we are lying in bed late at night he drabbles off about different things he find interesting, picking up on the questions and conversations we had on the journey.

It is this magical afternoon and evening that brings me to the thought, late at night when I am lying curled up against Peeta's body, that this marriage might actually be pleasant. That being married to Peeta doesn't have to just be my duty, but I quickly brush the foolish feelings aside and succumb to sleep.

**Author's Note: Sorry this wasn't published earlier, I haven't had internet for a long time and I'm (again) sending you to this ub-betaed because the power is still flickering and I'm not sure how long this is going to last:( I did, however, have had this chapter typed up since the 8th. So sorry about the late update.**

**Other than that, I just wanted to know what you would like to see in this story. We are coming to a point where the mood of this story will shift dramatically, and *spoiler* there will be more political scenes and we will see Katniss rise to the occasion with substance and grit.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games Trilogy. All right to the characters, names, and places from the books go to their respective owners.**

Peeta and I spend the next two days in the comfort of our bedchamber. With the exception of a handful of excursions to the greenhouse and a few brief appearances at parties, we remain fairly unoccupied.

It bores me slightly, but Peeta seems to enjoy the lack of duties. I imagine he has a very hectic schedule on an everyday basis.

* * *

The morning of the third day Peeta wakes me up with a fast rattling shake.

"Wake up, Katniss. Wake up!" he says in a voice that sounds a little bit too much like an eight year old on the way to a carnival.

Without any words of what is going on, I am shuffled into my dressing chamber and a flurry of dress maids, not my usual people, hurriedly slip me into my clothing. The piece features a solid pink skirt with a cream bodice laced with gold. It is yet another simple piece, but it still demands attention in the way anything a Queen wears should.

Once again, I am lead through a series of passageways, this time with Duchess Effie as my guide.

"You will be sectioned off, of course. We aren't going to force you to mingle, so don't have any fears, dear," she says, rattling off about something I know nothing about. I have made quite a habit of tuning her out.

"Where exactly are we going, Duchess?" I ask her, making sure to emphasize her status.

She turns towards me, squinting her forehead and causing her massive purple headpiece to slide slightly to the left. "Well, my dear. We are going to the parade, of course. The King must have informed you?"

"Oh no, he didn't. At least, not to my knowledge," I say as we turn a corner.

"Perhaps he meant it for a surprise, no worries. Are you feeling faint, Your Majesty?"

I quickly cover up what must have been a lack of hearing, "I have been feeling a bit off recently, must be the environmental changes." As we pull in closer I start to hear the faint noise of clammering and musical instruments, an obvious sign that we are close to the parade.

"Ah," she says, unfolding her hands in a grand majestic revealing movement as we reach an ornate gold door, "You must be having issues with the lower ground, poor thing. Anyways, this is the private entrance to yours, no- our, very own private viewing station.

The guards behind us open the doors with a bow, allowing for the loud noises to flood into the hallway. The clamboring sound of instruments, the smell of candies and sweet breads, and the murmuring of voices fill my senses with a familiarity.

The Duchess ushers me into the door, pulling it closed behind her and pushing me into the space before me. It is a little private area, with a handful of velvet chairs scattered in the section, gold curtains and canopies draping over our heads, and a gate lined with three guards separating us from the crowd. It reminds me of the box seat my father had at a theatre, but ground level and obviously temporary.

There are four people in this room with me, save the guards and a footman standing with some drinks. The Duchess in her plum purple gown, of course, and a finely dressed couple that I do not recognize. The last person stands with his back facing us, pressed against the gate, peering into the crowds and taking the occasional sip from a gold chalice .

It isn't hard for me to recognize him, with the build I have come familiar with and the tell tale blond hair that makes his identity obvious.

I run up to him in an unladylike manner and wrap my arms around his waist, "Peeta!" I say with a squeeze.

He turns around and pulls me in for a brief kiss, handing me his chalice, "It's just wine," he says, returning to peer out at the crowd.

He was right in his previous assumption. The crowd is mostly filled with children of all ages, sitting criss crossed along the walls of the main hall. The adults line the very back of the walls, with the servants leaning up against the walls and the nobles scattered in chairs.

The classes of adults are obviously very separated, even the children. The girls in colorful silk dresses sit feet away from the huddles of young girls in black aprons, far too aware of the social divide that separates them.

* * *

The parade itself is quite a sight. Marching soldiers orderly chant in lines, jesters and entertainers perform tricks, little walking skits are played out by men of the theatre, candy is tossed to the children. It is all quite marvelous, nothing I would have expected to ever happen indoors.

Peeta and I sit next to the couple, who he introduces to me as Duke Finnick of the Odair family, and his wife, Duchess Anne. They are a handsome couple, the brunette Anne shines in her own way, but Finnick outdoes all of the gentlemen I have met so far with his perfect features and golden copper hair. Peeta even makes a joke about having a little competition. Everbody laughs, but I take the joke a bit more seriously, as if I would ever have the opportunity to commit adultery. Even if I wasn't accompanied by my husband's guards twenty four hours a day, I'm not stupid. I am rather fond of keeping my head on my shoulders.

Peeta find himself in pleasant conversation with the Odair nobles, but I stay silent, only speaking as I notice the parade slowing down and the crowd growing more rambunctious. With no parade to focus on, I notice that the people in the hall start to shift their gazes towards us.

"Is it over?" I ask Peeta, placing my hand on his arm.

"No, it is just an intermission, sweetheart." Peeta says, latching his hand with mine.

I remain quiet again as Duke Finnick starts a conversation on the silk trade. There are children in the crowd, peering out at me. Little servant girls dressed in muck brown dresses and white aprons about ten paces across from me. They stare a bit in my direction, whispering amongst themselves with the giggles and smiles that come from that age. I smile a bit in their direction, but they don't seem to catch that I am smiling at them.

It is this that spurs an urge in me, and without hesitation I just stand up, pulling Peeta with me and dragging him outside of the gates, moving too quick to allow the guards to stop me.

"Katniss," he hushes into my ear, "Whatever are you doing?"

"Just come," I say dragging him with me.

There is a girl sitting alone against a door nine paces to my right. She's not talking to anybody, just sitting there, knees against her chest and arms pulled tightly around her legs, her old worn boots and rags an obvious sign of her social status.

Adjusting my skirts and hoops, I plop right down next to her on the marble floors. Peeta follows suit and sits next to me.

The people notice immediately, wondering why on earth their leaders are with some random dirty street child. But I don't care what they think, I don't want this girl to sit alone.

The girl doesn't look up at me, but still tenses at my presence.

"So," I say, flattening out the pink silk of my skirt, "I'm Katniss, what is your name."

She looks up at me, the fear in her voice evident, "Anneliese, your lady-" she falters, "I mean, Your Majesty."

I smile at the younger girl, "You can just call me Katniss. No need for any of that fuss. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm seven. I will be eight next fall," she says, removing her knees from her chest.

"I have a sister just a little older than you. She's Primrose, but she just goes by Prim,"

"Does she have a pony?" the girl asks, her eyes lighting up and her mouth breaking into a grin.

"A pony?" I ask.

"You know, like a cart and pony. The girl my mama used to work for does. Her name was Emma, and her father was just a viscount. I imagine a real life Princess would have a better one. Do you have a pony?"

I laugh, "Oh, yes. Prim and I did have a pony and cart when we were younger. But we have both outgrown that."

"Was it pink?"

"Pink? No, it was white and black, not fun at all. Is pink your favorite color, by any chance?"

She grins, "Pink is my favorite color. I wish I could wear pink all day, with dresses just like the one you are wearing, and gems like that necklace," Anneliese says, pointing her thumb towards the pink tourmaline gem that lies across my neck.

"You like the necklace? You can have it if you would like."

She wrinkles her nose, "I can have it? But why?"

"I really have no use for it," I say, pulling the cream silk ribbon off of my neck and pressing the gem in her palm. "Take it to your mother."

Anneliese looks back down into her lap and presses the gem against her chest, "My mama isn't around anymore."

At her words, I subconsciously slip my hand into a silent Peeta's.

"But you said she worked-"

"She did, before she got sick," her lip trembles and a tear drips against her cheek.

I sigh and pulls her body close to mine, scooping her frail frame into my lap. I don't care about the tears make marks against my shoulder or the dirt from her dress clinging to the clean cream of my bodice. I know what it is like to lose a mother, but at least I still had somebody who kept me well dressed and fed. Many in Seam didn't, and even with the prosperity here, this girl is obviously not being taken care of.

A previously silent Peeta speaks up to the girl, his voice tender as he addresses the child, "How about this. When all of this commotion is over, we will have somebody dress you up and give you pretty pink dresses. You can have one just like Katniss's if that is what you would like. I know of a friend who is looking for a girl to be a companion to his daughter, you would be just right for the job. They have been searching for ages for the right match, and it would be just wonderful if you could do them the honor. They even have a pony and cart, which you could use whenever you pleased. How does that sound, sweetheart?"

The girl rubs her sleeve against her eyes, "Do they really have a pony?"

"Yes, a little white thing by the name of Magenta. That's another word for pink, did you know that?"

"Really," she giggles, "they named their horse after a color?"

"Yes they did," he leans close to her as if he is telling her a secret, "Now, you must never tell them this, but I personally thought it was rather silly. Don't you agree?"

She gives a dutiful nod and makes a serious face, "It is pretty silly. I agree. Now if I had a pony, I would name her sugar."

"Ah," Peeta says, "Because horses love sugar. How witty! You know, my friend over there, Finnick? We all call him sugar in private because he has a slight obsession with the cubes they feed to horses?"

She giggles and looks up at me, her nose bumping my chin, "I like him. You should keep him."

I place a kiss on her forehead, "I plan on it."

* * *

A crowd of servant children forms around us, and as I bounce little Anneliese on my lap, I make small talk with some of the women and learn the children's names. Eventually they grow more comfortable with us, laughing at Peeta's self deprecating jabs and proudly informing me of where they are stationed in the palace.

We get quite a bit of stares from the surrounding nobles, but as the minutes of intermission pass by, a handful of the well dressed end up "lowering themselves" by sitting on the floor, surrounded by their lessers, for the opportunity to introduce themselves.

* * *

That night, when Peeta and I are lying in our bedchamber surrounded by the comfort of the darkness, I speak up.

"Do your friends really have a pony named Magenta?"

He pulls my body against his and presses a kiss to the top of my head, "They do now."

I don't respond, allowing him to speak a few last words before we are pulled into sleep, "You know, you were good with the people, Katniss. You will make an exceptional Queen, and the way you dealt with that child. I can't wait to see you as a mother."

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, that was an interesting chapter to write. I'm not 100% sure if I portrayed the scene I had in my brain correctly, but I think it turned out pretty good. I was waiting to write this chapter:) Tell me in a review what you would like to see next. In the upcoming chapters we will be seeing a lot of characters from the books, so hopefully you are excited about that.**

**I would like to thank my wonderful beta prisspanem. If you like King Peeta, you should check out her story Tales of Panem.**

**Like always, you can follow me on tumblr and ask any questions at starveinsafety. Also, I'm thinking of putting a weheartit page or something where I could put all of my inspiration images up for my different stories so that you could see what different dresses, rooms, etc. look like. Thoughts?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Hunger Games Trilogy universe. All rights to characters and places go to their respective owners.**

**Sorry for posting a little later than usual, as an apology of sorts this is about fifty percent longer than most of my chapters, so I do hope that you enjoy that!**

As the days go by and the celebrations end, I am dragged around to more political occasions than parties. I spend a beautiful Saturday afternoon listening to the male nobility debate over trades with the "heathen" countries of the west, and a Tuesday listening to the same men decide whether or not they should establish new laws on settlement. The only highlight of these boring lectures is listening to Peeta speak. He's a natural persuasive speaker. With an air of authority he makes you feel like the only intelligent answer is to agree with him. Persuasive speaking is never anything I could tap into, even with the classes I was given by my tutors in Seam. Of course I have no say in the debates that I listen to in Panem, I'm only a decoration that must be present to symbolize the royal family.

There are other women present at these functions, but we are kept in separate sections. It isn't until after I have attended four political events that I meet my ladies in waiting.

* * *

"You court has naturally been hand picked by those in the highest positions of authority. I assure you all of your ladies are the finest Panem has to offer," Duchess Effie says as we sit in "The Queen's Parlor".

It's another sumptuous room. The ceiling is tall and multileveled with gold stenciling that flows to meet the crystal chandelier in the middle of the room. The cream walls sport the same gold stenciling as the ceilings, with more details over the marble fireplace and the silk covered windows. The room is large, with enough furniture to fit a large group of ladies in oversized skirts. It's quite obvious that where I am sitting, a light pink settee that stands along the back wall, is the center of attention. The bright color of my settee stands out against the assorted group of matching cream chairs and sofas.

"Are they late?" I ask the Duchess impatiently. She had stressed punctuality as a virtue, so I would assume that the women she praised would be on time. Not that I had anywhere else to be, of course.

Effie gives a slight frown and her wig slides forward slightly as she wrinkles her forehead, "It's not like any of the young ladies I know. But don't worry, I will make sure the people who vetted for them will be made aware of how awfully inconsiderate they were to you. Poor dear, I can't imagine what impression this is making on you."

Effie has a way of making everything overly dramatic. Sure, it is slightly annoying, but I'm not exactly the most punctual person in the world. At least I will have company in my imperfection.

* * *

It is another ten minutes before the doors at the far side of the room are opened by the footman and the ladies come in. They are a mash of shiny fabrics, expensive metals, and white powder. Even in the gorgeous blue and silver robe a la francaise that Cinna designed for me, I can't help feeling bare compared to their finery. My dress is probably more expensive than the ones that they are wearing, but they command the type of attention that only the finest lady's education can provide. The low cut gowns, the poise in their stance, and the perfect smiles make me feel inadequate. Peeta could have had a number of these perfect women. He could have had a woman just like this from a country that would have actually given Panem something in return, but he married me. I almost feel bad for him. Getting stuck with me must have been a real disappointment.

The ladies enter one by one, almost like the groups in the parade from last week. Each comes through the room, is announced, curtsies, and takes a place in a seat. The seating must have been arranged beforehand because they all seem to know exactly where to go.

The first lady to do the walk through wears an almost translucent blue gown that stretches farther than any of the dresses I have seen so far. She's a beautiful girl, but from the haughty sniffle she gives as she curtsies, I can tell that she is one of the snobs I have been trying to avoid.

The woman is announced as, "Lady Glimmer of Andover, the wife of Lord Marvel, the Earl of Andover." Glimmer? Marvel? The names are fairly ridiculous, but they certainly do fit this place. Ridiculousness followed me everywhere here.

There are about eleven ladies in waiting from what I can tell, it's large compared to my mother's court back home. Most of them are extremely similar in appearance, and the only ones I take note of is Duchesse Anne, the woman from the parade, and a new woman Countess Johanna. Johanna stands out from the women in both her mannerisms and her dress. The gold and amber gown, while elaborate in it's own way, lacks the ruffles and fuss of the other dresses. Along with that she seems to give off a cocky confidence and spunk that the other women lack.

* * *

When Duchess Effie leaves to allow us some time to, "gossip in peace," the conversation takes a turn that I would have never expected. Without the guidance of Effie, who acted like a supervisor, my gaggle of women don't bother to keep up their shiny smiles and polite conversation.

The conversation turns ugly in a way that I could have never expected. I've never been close to women. My main friend was Gale, and without a mother I never really had a chance to be around many noble women. The idle conversation bored me and the gossip was dull, so I never really paid attention to any of them.

It is Lady Clove, the wife of one of Peeta's advisors, Lord Cato, that first says something rude. It's not openly cruel, nothing that she could get in trouble for, but the women have a way of making what they are saying very clear while pretending to be perfectly polite.

"So, Your Majesty, I have heard stories about your wondrous romance with our King. Is everything they say true?" she says as she gives a look to a blonde across from her. It's one of those looks that means something. I've noted other women do it before, but I have never had the ability to tap into the language.

Lady Glimmer interrupts before I can speak, "Of course they are, my dear Clove. There must be some unnatural attraction for our King to journey all the way to Seam," she makes a face at my home country, "for a wife."

It's the first truly traitorous thing that anybody says to me and I let out an audible gasp when she says the words. Nobody has ever said anything so cruel about me that openly, even when I was just a simple princess. I could have her head removed at my mercy for all she knows. Why would she dare speak to me like that?

The woman I noted from earlier, Johanna, gives a causal roll of her eyes and addresses Glimmer, "Perhaps you should keep your envy to yourself, jealousy isn't a virtue, you know? I can recommend a good prayer book on that if you would like. Besides, whatever tricks sweetheart used to get here, it can't be that bad. Not all of us can get pregnant so conveniently like you, Glimmer," she says in a sickenly sweet voice that must be sarcastic.

A few of the other women laugh at her remark, and Lady Glimmer turns a little red at the implication. Johanna doesn't bother with trying to be polite, she's openly brash with her words.

"Oh, Jo, don't be that way, it's impolite" Clove gives a momentary sigh and bats her eyes, "Your Majesty, you should come to my little estate in the Evonshire this summer. I'm sure the King would love it, he's always had a taste for hunting, and everybody knows the south has the best game."

At this I speak up, "As do I."

She looks a little perplexed but she continues to keep up her perfectly sweet act, almost forgetting her rude comment from earlier, "Pardon me, Your Majesty?"

"I enjoy hunting," I say as if it must be obvious.

"You enjoy hunting? So, the rumors are true?" a doe eyed brunette sitting next to Lady Glimmer asks.

I'm not exactly sure what rumors she is talking about. I wasn't aware that there were rumors circulating the palace about me. I knew that they looked down on me, but I wasn't sure of who would give them any fuel for good gossip. I could only hope they were making things up about me. My place in Panem isn't exactly secure. The last thing I needed right now was nasty things going around about me.

"I do enjoy hunting, but not the formal horses and dogs kind. I prefer my bow and arrows. It's more serene that way," I answer her quietly.

An oblivious lady from the back speaks up, "Oh lord, I love archery. I don't enjoy hunting, I faint at the sight of blood and killing bunnies isn't my thing, but I do adore a little formal archery. My brother taught me, you know. He is in the King's hunting league and all of that. I'm pretty good. I hit the targets all of the time-"

She is interrupted by Johanna, "Oh be quiet Olivia." The girl shuts up and inches backwards in her seat, almost afraid of Johanna.

"So," says Lady Glimmer, "You hunt? Like a man? How on earth do you accomplish anything in a skirt? I can barely walk in the gardens in mine, I can't imagine hunting live things in anything appropriate."

This catches me up. I'm not exactly sure how to tell women who wear gowns that stretch out ten feet on a regular basis that I wore breeches and trudged through mud and dirt on a regular basis. So instead I simply give a vague answer, "I suppose when you are used to it, it becomes easier. Besides, in Seam women's clothing isn't as…," I motion towards the blue and silver gown I am wearing.

She gives a thin smile and a knowing glance at Clove, "I'm sure you didn't. You poor thing, I can't imagine what it was like to grow up around such a lack of decorum."

At this I snap. Insulting me was one thing, I was used to it, but insulting my people crossed the line.

I look Lady Glimmer in the eyes, "Are you implying that my people are backwards? That I'm some sort of heathen you can look down upon? Because in case you haven't noticed, I'm your Queen. I am your superior, not the other way around. As your god appointed superior I expect for you to treat me like your Queen. That is how a lady in waiting should act. Perhaps instead of having the manners and tact of a young child, you should learn some respect. I may not know what the custom is in such a wealthy and civilized country like Panem, but in the Seam we treat our royal family with dignity."

The room falls silent. The ladies glance at each other, not entirely sure of what just happened. In their silence I stand up, and with a turn of my heel and complete disregard for the guards I walk out of the room.

I just barely catch Johanna's comment, "Well, sweetheart certainly isn't dull."

* * *

I find myself running through various corridors, avoiding the guards as I tunnel a maze through the numerous hallways and doors.

I'm so tired of everything that has happened. In a few weeks my entire life has been pulled out by the roots and I have been thrown into this awful place. In the whirlwind of activities I had forgotten to mourn for my past. But now that I'm settling into what will be my life, as I'm meeting the women who I will spend my days with, the crushing reality of the upheaval has finally dawned on me.

Losing the guards I find myself in a small room at a farther part of the palace. Like I have done many times back home, I curl myself up into the closet of an empty bedroom and just sit there alone with my thoughts.

A million different things race through my head. I'm practically alone now, without Prim or Gale, who at the very least I may see once or twice every few years. I haven't even written to Prim yet, and one day Gale will get married and rule Seam forgetting about my existence. Everybody in my home, my real home, will move on with their lives.

From the closet I can hear them calling my name and knocking on doors. They must have organized a search party in this area, and I can only hope that nobody will find me. I need to be alone for a while.

But against my wishes eventually I hear the sound of heels and the rustle of skirts against the floors that makes it obvious that I am no longer alone. I remain quietly curled up, barely daring to breathe, until somebody finally opens the door of my shelter.

* * *

I have to stare at her for a moment. What are the chances that she would find me? After two years of not seeing each other, my only female friend, Lady Margaret Elisabeth stands before me in the living flesh.

We had met as children, her father was an unimportant Panem diplomat that got stuck in Seam for a few years. Both of us were pretty quiet, so we ended up spending a lot of time together. It filled my quota for female companionship at the least and satisfied my governess's quest to find a suitable companion for me. She may have been nothing here, but in Seam she was considered very important. I bet her father handled my marriage.

"Madge," I breathed, shocked at the girl in front of me, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm a Panem citizen, you know that." It's true, but I expected when her family left, they moved on to another residence.

"But your father, I thought-"

"My mother finally got me a position in court," she slumps down next to me, "They are looking for you, you know? Everybody, even random ladies like me have been sent out to search every inch for you," Madge gives a little sigh as she tucks her skirts in.

"Let them look," I say nervously picking at a gold thread on my sleeve.

"So, what exactly are the odds of us meeting like this?"

I think about it for a moment, "Not to bad. You are well aquainted with my favorite hiding places."

She considers it and then nods, "I suppose so. What exactly are you running away from?"

"I met my ladies in waiting today," I look down at the wooden flooring of the closet.

"Ah, Lady Glimmer?" she says with a knowing smile.

"She was the main one, how did you know?" I never imagined that Madge was in touch with all of the gossip.

"I heard that she was one of your ladies. She's a real pain."

"She was just so dreadful. I hate them, do you know that?" I pull my knees to my chest, "I hate them all."

"Don't mind her, she thought she was going to be the Queen for a while. She was Snow's first choice for his wife."

"But she was so openly rude. Shouldn't she be, I don't know, trying to get in my good graces?"

"She thinks that you aren't permanently here," Madge says, hastily adding, "Not that I agree."

"Not permanently here? "

"Lady Glimmer and a few other women believe that you are some sort of phase, and that the King will tire of you eventually. None of them expect you to have any real power. I disagree, I think it's fairly obvious he is smitten with you for some reason and Peeta isn't the type to discard of a wife that easily."

"Peeta?" I say, questioning her casual use of his first name.

"Oh," she frowns a little, "We knew each other as children, don't you remember?"

"Remember?" I ask her.

She sighs and leans her head against the wall, "Oh nothing, it isn't my place," she pauses as we hear somebody shout out my name, "We should probably get you back out there. They will worry."

"I wish you were in my court," I say to her as she pulls me up to a standing position and helps me smooth my hair.

"That would be nice, but my family isn't important enough for that sort of thing."

I putter slightly, "I can do things about that, I guess. Now that I'm Queen."

* * *

**Author's Note: Yay! New chapter:) And for those of you who were asking, this story will get pretty smutty as Katniss and Peeta get more comfortable with each other.**

**A million thanks to my beta, Prisspanem. If you like King Peeta stories, she has an amazing one titled 'Tales of Panem'.**

**As always you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. If you go to my tumblr and click on fic inspiration I have an inspiration board for every single dress/gown that Katniss has worn through chapters 1-10. So check that out if you want to see pictures of the dresses I have described.**

**Please give any constructive criticism that you have for this chapter, I was a little unsure about this, so any advice would be helpful. I enjoy reading what you like and dislike about my stories.**

**Also, for those of you who like royal Peeta stories, writergirl8 has a "Prince and Me" Everlark story. It's not historical, but Peeta is a prince. I would recommend that you check it out.**

**Anyways, long story short, after this fanfic is finished I will be doing another historical fic. I have done intensive research to make this upcoming story accurate (spent a few hours in a mansion built after the civil war taking pictures and making notes, etc.) to bring you a Victorian era fanfiction where Peeta is a wealthy businessman who brings Katniss to be his wife in order to raise his goddaughter.**

**"Historical" Notes - A robe a la francaise was a gown popular in the mid 1700s.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games trilogy fandom. All characters and places belong to their respective owners.**

When I return to Peeta's room that night, it's the first time I ever get to see him truly angry. He doesn't even bother with saying hello. Instead, the first words that come out of his mouth as I burst through the door are a mixture of displeasure and concern.

"God damnit Katniss, where on earth were you? You could have been hurt or kidnapped! Or worse, dead for all anybody knew." he addresses me, slamming his hands against a dresser.

"I'm sorry," I tell him in a low whimper.

"You're sorry? I was sick with worry. And you were doing what? Hiding out somewhere? I thought you were in danger. I took myself out of a very important meeting for that. You can't just run off like that anymore. You have responsibilities."

"I'm sorry," I say, breaking down against his body, "I didn't mean to give you any cause to worry. I just needed to get away. You have to understand that, please don't be cross with me." The words are a bit frilly and I act more emotional than I usually would, but it's for a reason. The last thing I need right now is to lose favor with Peeta.

He softens his tone a little and pulls me closer to him, "Hey, hey, I'm not angry with you," he looks down at me and gives me a light kiss, "I was just worried about you, that's all."

I nod into his chest.

Peeta taps my nose playfully, "I worry about you a lot more than I ought to, you know. There are things you cannot understand going on in this world and I don't want you to be taken from me."

I sigh into his shirt, "I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can take care of yourself better than I can. However, you should stay with your guards. It's awful not knowing where you are like that."

"Can't have the woman who will give you heirs getting hurt," I mumble under my breath, annoyed at his concern.

"What was that?" he questions me.

I quickly change the subject by pushing him down and causing him to fall back against the freshly laundered bed covers, "Nothing," I lower my voice, "maybe I can it up to you, that's it," it is the first thing that comes to my mind as a distraction.

"Make it up to me?"

I turn a little red, "I just want to give you a little something, a way of making up all that worry to you."

I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing, or where the urge has come from, but I press my own body against the bed, my legs dangling off the edge as I toy with his collar.

"Give me something," he says in a hoarse whisper as I gently kiss the edge of his jaw.

I nod, "Show me what you like, I'm not exactly sure where to start." For all the times we have been in bed, he has been the only active participant. I've essentially just laid there and allowed him to act on me.

"What I like?" he asks me. It's a bit obvious that he knows exactly what I am requesting of him, but for some reason he wants me to say the word.

"You know," this time I turn beet red, "sexually."

He laughs, "If you can't say the word, how do you expect to have the ability to do anything," he lowers his voice mockingly, "you know, sexually."

I scowl at him, "Don't tease me or else I might have to reconsider my offer, mister."

Peeta grins and pulls me fully onto the bed before flipping our bodies over so that he crushed against me, "I am sure I would manage to survive."

I nod dutifully and run my fingers along his chest, "Well, can I?"

He adjusts his body so that he is no longer splayed crossways on the bed, and I immediately follow him, burrowing into his body. His hair is a golden sun toned color in the light from the bedside lamp and his long eyelashes are barely visible. It's odd how I notice these things about a man who was nothing to me a few weeks ago.

An arm wraps around my body and pulls me closer to his chest, "You are free to do whatever you would like to with my body, just not tonight. I don't want any of this to be some sort of obligation or payment. You shouldn't feel like you have to give me favors every time I get angry with you."

"Isn't that the way it's supposed to be. I mean, sex is a commodity?"

"I don't want what we do in bed to be bound by obligations and debts, Katniss." Peeta is stretched out across the bed, with one arm pulling me close to him.

I just nod as if I understand what he is saying.

"Can I ask you a question?" We are both calmly lying close to each other, and he seems in a good mood. It's the perfect opportunity to say something.

"You can ask me anything you would like. I'm your husband after all. We should know more about each other."

He's right, we should know more about each other. But that doesn't stop me from pausing before I ask the question, "Everything we have done in bed has been orchestrated by you. It's just that you always seem to know what to do-"

Peeta cuts me off, "Are you asking me about my experience?"

I nod at him and pull back a little, so that we are facing each other, "How many have their been?"

"Women? A handful," for the first time he seems uncertain in his choice of words.

"Oh," I say. I had assumed he had been with many women, but the confirmation of what I already knew stings for some unexplainable reason, "And how many women are you involved with now?"

He looks a little bit shocked at my suggestion, "Are you implying that I am sharing my bed with women other than you? Because I haven't, and I'm sorry if anything I have done has led you to believe that I'm not faithful to you."

I am quick to correct myself, "We have only been married for a short time, Peeta. When the years go by I can't expect for a man like yourself to not use the comforts of other women. It's not like anybody would demonize you for it."

He catches my arm with his hand and catches my eye, "I expect for you to not sleep with other men, and I hold myself to those same expectations."

I roll my eyes, "It's different, I'm a woman. It's typical for men like you to have other women. What was I supposed to think?"

"I don't want our marriage to be typical. I grew up in that type of household. I don't want anything like that for us. Katniss," he twirls the edge of my sleeve, "we will have to spend the rest of our lives together. If we can start out with a solid friendship and remain faithful and honest to each other, we might actually have a chance to be more."

"More?" I question. For somebody so in touch with people, Peeta is painfully naive. Marriages between nobles were nothing more than business arrangements. But perhaps behind the silly words, he had a point. We would be together for a long time. It would be better for both our personal interactions and our countries if we could stay bonded.

"We will get to that point when it happens," he shuts down the conversation, "Can I ask you a question? Like that little game we did while travelling."

I nod, happy to change the subject.

"If I may ask you, what exactly happened today? Are you unhappy here?" He gives a brief sigh, his lower lip dropping as he speaks, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

I think about the question for a moment. Am I happy here? I've been taken from everything I know, shoved into uncomfortable dresses, and paraded around like the latest dish. I've changed so much over the past few weeks. I haven't hunted, practiced with weapons, or had the slightest smidge of dirt on my body. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really Katniss anymore, instead I'm just the wife of Panem's King. But even with everything that has happened, at least I have Peeta. Whatever motivations or plans he has for our marriage, when we are together I can be at peace with him to some degree.

I hesitate as I speak, "You have to understand that this world is very different than where I come from. I'm very different here than I am back home, but that isn't your fault. I don't want you to think I'm not appreciative of everything that you have done for my people," I pause, "but if you want me to be honest I am not in the happiest mood right now."

He kisses the crown of my head, "I understand that. Don't feel like you need to pretend around me, but why did everything come crashing down today? Why did you feel the need to run from me?"

"I wasn't running from you, Peeta. You know how I met my ladies in waiting today?"

"Yes, I was informed of that."

"I don't fit in with these people, Peeta. They didn't like me, I could tell. I'm a girl from Seam, I'm not fit to be the wife of a man like you. Even Prim would have been better at this. I can barely get people in my home country to like me, I can't expect anybody here to respect me."

He tightens his grip on my body, "I don't think you understand the effect you have on people, Katniss. When you sat with that girl the other day, people watched. You connected with them on a level that any of these women never could have. You will make an exceptional queen, and eventually these women will come to realize that. But for the time being, is there anything I can do to make your transition better? I can have some of the women removed."

I bite my tongue, a bit worried at the implications of the word 'removed'.

He rolls his eyes, "I'm not going to have anybody killed, but if anybody in particular was cruel to you. I can handle it."

I sigh, "Lady Shimmer or Glimmer, something stupid like that. She stood out."

"It's Glimmer," he clucks, "that makes sense."

I raise my eyebrows and shift my body so that my head is turned to his direction, "Glimmer? Just Glimmer," I narrow my voice at him.

He turns a little pale, like he has been caught, "It was a long time ago."

I hoist myself up and move myself over a foot away from him, "Exactly how many women in my court have you been with? It can be turn for a question in our little 'game', and none of that 'just a handful' bullshit."

He seems taken aback at my coarse language, "I'm not exactly sure who is in your court. Katniss," he reaches out and places a reassuring hand on my arm, "it was a long time ago."

I'm not exactly sure why it bothers me so much. Maybe it is the realization that I've been in the same room as women that have shared his bed, maybe it's his whole shtick about how he would stay faithful to me and how he wanted to "be more". The only thing I really know is that in this moment I'm disgusted with him.

"I don't want to talk about it," I slide his hand off my arm and turn towards the wall, "You are the King. You have god's sovereignty to do as you please."

* * *

Later that night when we are both lying in the dark, pretending to have the even breaths of sleep, Peeta speaks up.

"I was going to tell you that I arranged our honeymoon trip. It's only a week and travel days, with everything going on I can't take off more, but I was going to tell you that we could do all of that 'making it up' to each other while we were there, but I don't imagine we'll be doing any of that now."

I pull the covers a little bit tighter around my body, "Whatever you want, Peeta. Whatever you want."

* * *

**Author's Note: It's finally here. My family crisis is over, and I'm halfway done with the new chapter of "In the King's Forest'. I would like to thank my great beta, PrissPanem. Other than that, I'm really sorry if this isn't fluffy. Don't kill me, but hey, angry smut will be coming.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I posted a world map on there because the characters will be doing a lot of traveling in the upcoming chapters.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All rights to characters, names, and places go to their respective owners (Suzanne Collins and her publishers).**

* * *

Peeta and I spend the next few nights curled up on opposite sides of the bed. Other than a constant struggle for domination of the covers, we do not interact. Even in the daytime when we are forced together for certain events, our interactions are cold and distant. As the days pass I wonder if my tiff was worth all of this awkwardness, but I certainly don't bother to break the silence.

The honeymoon goes on as scheduled, even with the current state of our relationship. While I am sent to numerous fittings and alterations for the trip, everybody refuses to tell me where we are going. Even Octavia, who can barely keep a secret, gives a smile when she tells me, "It's a secret."

* * *

The day that we leave for our belated honeymoon is a brisk Friday. The servants wake me up before the sun rises, slipping me into a basic light pink skirt and an matching overcoat. The dress is a more dolled up version of my riding habit, and it's extremely comfortable compared to what I normally wear. They don't even bother to force to force me into a corset.

After I'm properly dressed I'm led by my guards to a little courtyard off the west wing where the carriage awaits. It's raining when we arrive. The water sloshes against the stone pavement and all of the stony guards look miserable as they wait patiently beside the carriage.

A wet, albeit still handsome, tall dark haired footman that I vaguely recognize helps me into the carriage. He has the forethought to make sure my skirts don't hit the pavement, so I give him a quick smile of thanks before the door is closed. I doubt any of these people give him any consideration.

Peeta is waiting for me in the carriage. He's slouched against the window in a casual dark grey suit, quietly humming to a tune as I enter.

The only acknowledgment he gives of my presence is a kurt, "Katniss," before turning to the window.

I don't speak to him because I want to. We have both made it obvious that any resolution is distant, but he is the other person in this carriage, and I don't want the spend the next few days in silence.

"So," I say to him, unable to come up with a more interesting topic, "will our travels be hindered by this rain?"

He doesn't look up from the window, "No, not for today. However, we may be required to stop if this continues tomorrow. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," I answer him, the conversation dwindling into silence.

We don't speak to each other for the rest of the ride, save him offering me a rich nut filled bread when we stop for the midday meal.

It isn't until the day draws to a close, and we stop in a small port town, that Peeta and I finally address each other. Our group ends up lodging at the summer home of Duke Finnick, Peeta's friend. It's a relatively small stone castle that rests along the waterfront. Despite the small size, the castle is lavishly dressed in rich silks, fine wood, and finely crafted embellishments. Even this second, or perhaps third, home of a Duke probably cost more than Seam's main palace. I wonder what Peeta thinks of me, after seeing where I lived. Does he regard me as a pauper? Some naive barbarian that he took on as a charity case?

* * *

The housekeep arranges for Peeta and I to take the master's room, a dismal overbearing room in the center of the house. Housemaids pull me out of my travelling dress and slip me into a fresh suit, much like the one I wore today, except in a light violet.

I'm curled up in the freshly washed sheets with the lights off by the time Peeta joins me. I'm facing the opposite direction of the door, so when he pulls back the covers and crushes into the mattress I don't find the need to acknowledge him.

* * *

The bed, despite being part of one of the largest bedrooms, is significantly smaller than the enormous bed we have in the palace. Because of this I find that my feet touch the back of his legs when I curl into my regular position.

Peeta must notice too, because he turns over to lie rigidly on his back instead of continuing in his slightly scrunched position. I too shift from my side, pressing my chest against the bed and stuffing my head into the pillow.

"Peeta?" I say, my voice muffled against the sheets.

My husband gives a heavy breath. "Yes, Katniss?," he says in a slightly annoyed tone.

I don't respond to him for a long time, pausing to collect my thoughts, "I'm sorry."

He shifts in the bed, and I note the way his bare chest peeks through his thin white undershirt, "For what, exactly?," his voice halters.

I shrug against the bed, "I didn't mean to disturb you, that's all."

He lets out a sigh, "Oh, it's fine. Go to sleep, we have a busy day tomorrow. There are things I want you to enjoy."

A gust of wind blows and leaves rustle against the window, momentarily blocking the moonlight. We just lie there like that for a while, with my face crushed against my pillow and Peeta lying on his back. He attempts to conceal his consciousness my closing his eyes, a way of avoiding any more awkward conversations, I presume. However, I note his uneven breaths as a sure sign that he is as awake as I am.

I'm not quite sure what comes over me, but in the silence of the night I cautiously slip my hand across the bed and place it on his chest. He gives a sharp intake of breath as I give a light tug at his shirt, pulling it from it's tucked position. I slip my hand through the gap, sliding my palm against the warm hardness of his chest, dipping my hands through the curves and gracing my index finger against the lines of his body. His shirt pulls up as I rest my palm against his sternum, noting the way his breath relaxes as I pull my body closer to his.

Drawing circles with my fingers, I slip my hand further down his chest, stopping as I reach the tell tale fabric of his breeches. He's wearing the same ones he was wearing this morning, I can tell from the way the fabric feels against my fingers. He probably intends to just thrown on his jacket in the morning, this way he doesn't have to go through the hassle of changing in the morning. It's the same reason I'm wearing my travel clothes to bed.

I've never touched Peeta before. It's been inside my body more than a few times, and I've caught myself looking at it, but I've never really touched it before. Peeta has always been more occupied with my body, and what was I going to do, just reach out and grab him?

It's a mixture of curiosity and impulsivity when I grasp at the edge of his breeches. I pinch a few centimeters of the silky fabric, toying with the silky button of his pants. I can hear the way Peeta's breaths rapidly increase as I find my courage and pop the button open. Neither of us speak in the darkness as I pull back the flap of fabric and grace my hands over his thing. It's semi erect and surprisingly smooth under my touch. I find hand softly tugging it free from the pants. I don't act after that. Instead I just awkwardly leave my hand there, unsure of what to do.

But Peeta's hand finds mine, and without speaking he guides my hand around his penis, giving a sharp breath as I follow his lead and bob my hand up and down along his length. It's not the most comfortable action, and I'm not getting any real pleasure from it, but I'm slightly fascinated by the way it grows harder as I slide my hand along the shaft, moving it's skin as I slide up and down.

It isn't long before he finishes and I turn to the opposite side of the bed, my face burning with what had come over me. At least we were somewhat even now, after nights of him pleasing me I had given it back to him. That had to mean something for the tally of favors I was keeping in my head.

He does try to return the favor, his hand finding my breast in the dead of night, his actions asking for my permission to further his actions. But I shrug him off, placing his hand back onto his side of the bed and making it know that I don't want anything from him.

* * *

The servants come to wake us at the crack of dawn. Peeta is fitted into the silky jacket that matches the pants he wore yesterday and I'm quickly smoothed out and fixed up. We are both given long dark overcoats and hats before we are loaded onto another carriage.

We don't speak about last night. In fact, we don't speak at all. Peeta and I just resume the cold indifferent behavior that has filled the past days. Eventually, after only a few hours, the carriage comes to a full stop.

From the outside of my window I can see that's we are still running along the coastline. There is some sort of port, decked with a few ships, that I can see from my window. Surprisingly, from what I can tell the port isn't very busy. In fact, it is pretty dead aside from a few docks men and soldiers milling about.

"What are we doing here? This town isn't very busy, and I can't image there is great access to the ocean here?" I ask Peeta, who's sitting across from me reading through some documents.

He looks up and replies to me in the voice you use on small children, "We are not here for the town, Katniss. In fact, this isn't really a town. It's just a small port that my father purchased for the royal navy. Katniss, we're here for the boats?"

I wrinkle my nose. The boats! Surely he didn't mean to imply we were travelling by ship? It was impossible, especially with the limited time we had. Besides, there was nothing romantic or enjoyable about spending months cramped inside of a rocking vessel eating pickled meat.

"We are going on a voyage?" I ask him.

He closes the book he is reading and sets it aside on the seat, "Well, I wouldn't call it a voyage. The travel time is barely a day long, we are just going out a little bit. Besides, can't you tell that none of those boats out there are exactly qualified for a 'voyage'?"

I shrugged. I hadn't exactly seen a lot of ships, and they looked pretty qualified for all I knew.

"Qualified?" I asked him.

He sighs, "They aren't big enough to fit the supplies, and the bottoms aren't designed to fight the seas. The handful of boats held here are just used to ship passengers and limited supplies to other docks. It's a lot quicker than other methods," he looks at me a little funny, "You have been on a boat, right?"

I bite my lip, hesitant to reveal my inexperience, "Once, when I was six, during the wars, my father left for the battlefield by ship and I watched him leave, but that's about it."

He wrinkles his forehead, "But Seam is close to the water?"

I shrug, "I never had any reason to go on a journey by ship. It was too dangerous anyways. I was planning on being my country's queen, if you remember," I straighten my skirts, "Aren't they taking a little long to get us out of here. I want to look around a little bit."

Peeta slides of his seat and opens the door, offering his hand out to me as I follow him. I almost take it (the combination of my long skirts and heels doesn't bode well with getting out of a carriage this high), but then I remember I'm supposed to be mad at him so I just hike up my travel dress and jump down.

The docks are beautiful. Four ships and three smaller boats line the sparse lane. Fresh sunlight pours down on the wooden planks. Everything is well kept and harmonious, like the paintings of small villages Gale's father collected. I even notice the few small shops lining the boardwalk are covered in a fresh, crisp coat of paint.

Peeta leads me onto the wooden structure, his hands casually strung in his pockets as he points out the details, "My father used to bring me here when I was a child. It's the closest dock to the palace, and when I visited my aunts we always used to take the boats. I swear it hasn't changed a bit."

I avoid getting my heel stuck in the panels and wonder for a moment why exactly he is giving me his life story.

"You know," I say, lowering my voice to a hiss, "I'm still cross with you, so don't let last night fool you."

He pauses for a moment before giving a nod of compliance. This time when he speaks, he doesn't drabble on about his childhood.

"There are a few shops meant for the visitors that come through here. While we wait you can look through them," he says, calling for one of the red and gold covered guards, "Her majesty would like somebody to give her a tour through the shops. Darius," he addresses the red headed man by first name, "Get her one of the locals to fill her wish."

* * *

The 'flatboat' as Peeta calls it, is smaller than I expected. With a shallow bottom and the simple design, it's different than any other ship I've seen. It's small too, especially compared to all of the elaborate things I've seen in the Capitol. I guess I expected something ridiculously large, like everything else here.

My hair is drawn tightly against my head, with only two loose curls escaping freely from the pinned hairstyle. I pick a few of the hair pins, attempting to loosen the locks.

Peeta notices, placing his hands on the deck's guardrails and commenting in a cool voice, "Is something wrong with your hair?"

I wrinkle my nose and perch the toe of my boots through the rails, "No, they are just too tight. It gives me a headache."

"You probably shouldn't do that. It gets windy on the water. If you are going to refuse to take my advice and go into the cabin, you should keep your hair together."

I heed his advice, pinning back the curls on to my head, "So, where exactly are we going? Surely you can tell me by now?"

He pulls a watch from his pocket, "No, I don't believe I can. You deserve to see it as a surprise." He raises his empty chalice, and nods towards the guard from earlier, Darius, "Can you get someone to refill my wine?"

Darius gives a slight bow and a nod of acceptance, "Yes, Your Majesty. Would you like anything else?"

I give him a sickeningly sweet smile, "Yes, could you get one of the girls to come fix my hair?"

He gives me a grin and runs his fingers through his hair, just like Peeta does sometimes, "Sure, Your Majesty. Anything for my Queen."

When he is gone, Peeta turns to me, his face stone cold, "If you're looking to sleep with my guards, don't bother. I will not be made a fool of, Katniss."

I choke a little bit on my saliva. Looking to sleep with him, is that how Peeta thinks of me? Like a common whore? Or he is he just saying it to get under my skin?

I match his comment, "I think we both know that out of the two people in this marriage, I'm not the one who is going to be committing adultery," he winces at my comment and I go in for the real dig, "I don't even like sex."

It's a lie of course. I have enjoyed the nights we have spent together, but even I know it's a surefire way to hurt a man's ego. And after the way he has implied that I'm an adulteress, in jest or not, I don't feel any remorse for my words.

But Peeta's reply is so flat, so assured, that we both know he has won the twisted game we're playing, "I would say that the way you moan my name when I have my mouth all over your body says otherwise," he raises an eyebrow, "Wouldn't you agree, Katniss?"

I falter, "I-I."

He smirks, "It's alright, I don't need you to admit it. I'm very aware of exactly how much you like sex."

The comments are very unlike the docile sweet Peeta I've known for the past weeks. This Peeta is annoyingly full of himself, and I can feel my blood rising as I speak.

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

He cringes slightly, "Katniss… I didn't mean to-"

I cut him off, spitting a little at him as I speak, "No, you like to pretend like you're this great wonderful person, but in reality you're a pig. You're just a politician who can't be bothered to keep it in his pants, and I'm sorry I ever fell for it. And I don't care if you throw me the wolves or chop my head off for saying this," I grit my teeth as the searing words pour out of my mouth," I despise you."

At this we both fall silent. There is no taking back what has been said in my fit of anger.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks up, "Katniss, I'm sorry for anything I've done to you. I'm sorry for dragging you out here and separating you from your people. I'm sorry for forcing you into a marriage you are obviously very unhappy in, and I'm sorry for the animosity you have towards me. That being said, there is no going back now. We are married in the eyes of our people and our church. I can, however, give you a home in the countryside. A place far away from me. Perhaps you would be happier there?"

I just sit there for what feels like hours, shocked at his proposal. Send me away? Was I really that disposable.

"You don't want me anymore?" I ask him, biting my tongue as I speak.

"Katniss," he says, looking at me with a strangely intense look in his eyes, "I've always wanted you."

* * *

**Author's Note: I want to thank you guys for being patient with me. In exchange I've given you a longer than normal chapter (but I'm going to start making 2,700 words as my goal). I really wanted to get this out to you much earlier, but life got in the way. I've logged 13-15 volunteer hours per week since I got back, I had two essays to write, and I started heavy training for swim team. So it was hard for me to get the time to write.**

**I did give you guys some light smut in this chapter, and for those of you who were waiting for it - you will be _very_ satisfied by the next chapter. Fair warning, after the smut comes the big plot twist I have been waiting to share with you and for the person who asked, be will be seeing Gale again eventually.**

**I would like to thank my wonderful beta, prisspanem, as always. Shoutout to magicalmarauders for reminding me to 'hurry up'. If there are any typos you notice, feel free to shoot me a message/review and I will edit them.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. Even if you don't follow me there I recommenced you check out /inspirations (also linked on my profile) as the map I have posted will make the next chapter a lot clearer (there are some light spoilers of location names on the map, but nothing too big).**

**-** I'm sorry if I didn't reply to your comments for the last chapter. I will get back to you eventually. Also, for anon commenters, if you would like I could answer your questions in the next chapter's author's note. I always feel bad that I can't reply to you guys:)


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, names, or places from the Hunger Games Trilogy. All rights go to Suzanne Collins and her publishers (or whoever else owns the series). Some sections adapted from Catching Fire.**

**WARNING: mainly UN-BETAed at this moment.**

* * *

I cast my gaze downwards, choking on my words, "How can you say that, over how little we have known each other?"

His eyes stare at mine, and in that moment it almost feels like he is peering into my soul, picking at everything that is wrong with me. What does he expect from me? Does he think I'm some silly girl who will buy the pretty words and misplaced romantic sentiments?

Peeta braces himself against the railing. His tone is hollow, "Don't you remember?"

I squint a little, taking a step backwards, "Remember what?"

"Nothing," he says, this time nearly devoid of emotion, "You should go lie down, it's already fairly dark." He raises his hand in an authoritative manner, "Guard! Have somebody take Her Majesty to lie down."

* * *

The cabin is small and cramped, something I certainly wouldn't have complained about before I came to Panem, but I've adjusted to the spacious open rooms of a palace designed for comfort. My ability to reside in the small stale rooms in my castle at Seam has been replaced by a desire for the large airy rooms in my new home.

Home.

It was odd to think about Panem as home, but I know I must accept my fate. I am the Queen of Panem, from now until I die. There was no going back to my life in Seam. I could no longer be Gale's fiance or Seam's princess. From now until forever my only connection to my homeland would be the title of Archduchess.

The squeak of a creaking door causes my thoughts to cease. Slowly, somebody attempts to pry the door open without making any noise. The person's attempts are unsuccessful however, as the stop and start motions only add to the already noticeable noise.

It's when the person slides into the bed, settling beside me, that I know who it is. Peeta, despite our tiff this morning, joins me in the small cabin.

The bed is tiny, really too small for the both of us, so we both wordlessly shift our bodies to mold around each other on our sides. My back is pressed to his front and my legs are tangled up in the bed, but Peeta makes sure to keep his arms to his sides instead of wrapping them around me like he usually does.

It isn't until the dead of night, when the boat is rocking from side to side, causing me to roll with the boat, that I slip my hand into his and bring it around my body, allowing him to steady my body.

* * *

We arrive earlier than I expected. Even before the sun completely rises, I find myself alone in the bed, being shaken awake my one of my maids. They dress me in another riding habit, this time it's a heavy dark green suit instead of the flimsy pastel habits I have worn over the past few days.

Groggy and a little queasy from last night, I make my way to the front deck where I find Peeta leaning against the railing. Surprisingly without a jacket, he's dressed in a fairly simple white shirt and black breeches.

* * *

When I peer out over the deck I first see it.

It's beautiful.

The strip of land is surrounded by a greenish blue pool of water. The purplish blue outline of mountains surrounds the island on both sides, enclosing it in a band of rocks. I imagine it's the mountains that keep the rough waters from crashing in. Low on the ground, just meeting the surface of the water, the light stone turrets and gateways of a castle rest against the sloshing waves of the sea. Lush green foliage bursts through the skyline and topples over the stone building. It reminds me of Seam in an odd way, with the castle being encased by a forest.

"What is this place?" I marvel to Peeta.

His voice is what could only be described as 'dark' when he answers me, "Taraxa".

"Taraxa?" I question him. It's an odd name that doesn't really fit the language of Panem. It's certainly not like any of the lofty names given to any of the royal residences I have been to.

"It's named after the word for dandelion in the language they used to speak in a place called Rome. Taraxacum is the more formal scientific term, but I believe that Taraxa rolls off the tongue a little smoother. Don't you agree? "

I nod, "It's beautiful."

"I figured you would. It's simpler than my other homes, I thought it might remind you of your homeland," he pauses, "I know you aren't very fond of, well, the excess- in the Capitol."

I glance downwards, "You're right." I catch the sleeve of his garment with my hand as I bite the inside of my cheek, "Perhaps," I take a deep breath, "Peeta, perhaps we should talk?"

He shakes his head, "Later, Katniss," he rests his hand over mine, "this isn't the time for fuss."

* * *

The boat docks right against the rocky cliffs containing the castle. The spot where we land is precariously steep to the point that it takes three men to safety hoist me on to dry land.

* * *

"Why are you dressed like that?" I question him.

He pauses before speaking, "It was on the original itinerary for me to bring you somewhere for the midday meal, but if you do not want to go with me, I will understand. One of my people can get you a horse, you could explore the grounds on your own if you would like. I keep some beautiful Andalusians on the island's stables."

I shake my head, dropping the linen napkin to my lap, "I am fine with your original plan. Where will you be taking me?"

"I was planning on a brief walk through the castle's grounds and then a short trek through the woods. There are a handful of spots that I thought you may enjoy," his voice is devoid of emotion as he speaks to me.

* * *

Our trek through the woods is more enjoyable than I would have expected. We quickly cover the castle's grounds, which include a fairly basic garden and stable, before entering the wooded area.

I'm pleasantly surprised by the fact that we are able to go without the usual troop of guards keeping a close eye. Apparently a small island enclosed by a large body of water is easier to keep an eye on than a palace with thousands of people milling through it.

* * *

A trickling waterfall, only falling two or three feet between the various pools, far less dramatic than the one Peeta showed me previously, peeks through the heavy wooded area. I sit on the edge of the rocky moss covered perimeter with my hands braced against the extremity.

My toe dips into the water, precariously testing the temperature, "Do you think it's safe to use?"

Peeta looks up, "Use?"

"To swim, I was thinking maybe I would be allowed to use it later." I clarify.

Peeta stares outward, "To be entirely honest I'm not sure. It can't be unsafe, can it?"

I shrug, "I suppose it would be alright, it's not too deep from what I can tell and the current isn't strong."

"Here," he says, tossing his satchel to the side before starting to unbutton the small white hooks that rest on the front of his tunic. "I'll have a go."

He's removing his shirt! In the outdoors, practically in public!

I quickly slap his hand, "Peeta, what on god's earth are you doing? I swear to god, if you're trying something-"

"Swimming," he says, interrupting my shrieks, "I can't exactly swim fully dressed, can I? It was your idea anyways, but I didn't know you were so invested in religion..."

I turn a little red, "You can't just do that?"

"Do what?" he asks as he tosses his shirt to the side. I can't help but feel a little alarmed at seeing him half nude in the daylight.

The weak side of my disposition almost wants him for a moment.

My cheeks flush, "You can't just," I lower my voice, " _strip_ , whenever you feel like it!"

Peeta chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, "Katniss, nobody is watching. Nobody will ever know."

I huff, "I'll know."

"Katniss," he says with a smirk, "Relax, it's nothing you've never seen before."

And with nothing more than those words and a charismatic grin Peeta unexpectedly swings his arms around my body and pulls both of us straight into the water.

* * *

I pull my drenched body up from the water. I must be an unnatractive sight, coughing up water with my soaked mussed hair and red eyes.

"You bastard!" I cry at Peeta. I blindly shove my arms outward at him in an attempt to make him tumble over, but it's no use as he has already got his footing.

"Ugh!" I scream out in annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest as I stand up, "I'm leaving," I say, attempting to wade through the water in my heavy water laden skirts, "Have your fun!"

Peeta comes wading after me, "Katniss! Katniss!" his steady hand finds a place my shoulder, "I'm sorry, don't be cross. I meant it in jest!"

I swing around to face him, throwing his hand off my shoulder, "I don't care. I'm going back to the palace."

"Here, I'll come with you," he says as we reach a shallower section of the crystal pool, "You can't go alone, you'll never find the way."

"Fine," I say with a huff of indignation, "I can't stop you from coming."

Peeta stops for a moment, pausing before he speaks, "Perhaps we should wait a moment. You probably shouldn't do the hike back when your clothes are that wet."

I stop, turning to face him, "Alright, how about this, you can stay for a swim and I'll sit by the water's edge. We can wait a couple of hours for our clothes to dry. Is that a plan?"

He nods, "It's a plan."

I bite to hide my smile as I turn my back towards him, "Alright, then why don't you help me out of my dress?"

It's the perfect way to get back at him. He teased me by throwing me into the water against my will, but I can tease him in another way. It's a surefire way to get back at a man.

Peeta makes a strangled noise, "Help you out of your dress?"

I give him a nod and pull my hair to the front, giving him access to the buttons along the back of my waist coat. I flitter with a few of the buttons on my skirt in an attempt to appear more confident about the idea than I am.

"Well," I say impatiently, "I can't really expect my clothes to dry if I'm still wearing them, now can I?"

He pauses, "Well, no, but you can't-, you were just-"

"Peeta," I say in an assertive voice, "Is there a problem?"

"No, Katniss," he says as he finally crosses his hands to the back of my dress.

As he is undoing my buttons I have my hand wander across the side of his wet breeches, "Perhaps you should get out of the rest of your clothes too. This way they will be dry for the hike back," I say as Peeta unhooks the final button.

Peeta breathes in as I twirl my body around towards him, my hands catching the vest against my chest.

"Maybe," I say, running a wet finger along Peeta's bare chest, just like he often does to me when we are in the comfort of our own bed, "I could help you out with your buttons."

At this his face breaks out into laughter.

I frown at him, embarrassed, "What was that for?"

He tosses his hair back, struggling to breathe between fits of laughter, "Katniss, I know what you are doing. Your attempts at seductivity-"

"You don't think I'm seductive?" I huff. It stings more than I would have expected.

Peeta calms down and places a hand on my wrist, "Don't be upset, it's just because you're so, you know…"

"No, I don't know," I say. And I really have no idea what he is talking about.

"It's like when you wouldn't look at me earlier even though you've slept with me times and times before. You're so… pure."

"I am not!" I say, "I've spent the night in your bed a dozen times before. I can't be pure."

"Yeah, but for the women that I know… for the Capitol, you're pure," he says clearly trying to mollify me, "For me you're perfect."

"I'll prove it to you then," I say.

"Prove what, Katniss?" he says.

I remove the inches of space and look up at him in the most appeasing way that I can, "Prove that I'm not pure!" I hiss, slipping the vest from my chest and clinging my naked half to his for concealment.

He breathes in heavily as I reach up to kiss him, barely stopping me as I attempt to slide my lips against his.

"Katniss, no."

"Why not?" I say, feeling defeated.

"We can't keep on doing this," he leans his head slightly back.

"What exactly is this?" I ask him.

"We can't keep on fighting we each other and then fooling around at your discretion. It's not healthy and I'm tired of keeping up with it. I'm sorry for what I've done, I'm sorry that I slept with those women, but I can't change that and I can't play around with you if you're going to stop speaking to me when we stop!"

I break my grip from his, "Okay."

He bites deeply against his lip, "Okay?"

My voice is hollow as I try to cut back from the tears, "We'll be friends, we can call a truce. You know what," I pull at the skin of my lips with my teeth, "We should just swim."

* * *

When we are finished Peeta and I retrieve our clothing and return to the grassy hills alongside the river, where we share a small meal of cheese sandwiches and strawberries from the bag that Peeta has packed.

"I wanted to give something to you, Katniss," Peeta says, "Now that we are once again speaking to each other, I believe this is an opportune moment." My husband stretches out his hand and drops a small purple curiosity in my hand.

I pull the drawstrings of the tiny velvet pouch in my hand, releasing the contents into my hands. It's a locket. It's plainer than anything I would have expected, oval and gold with engravings of a small bird surrounded by a pattern of flowers and vines.

"It's beautiful," I say, the simple gift is not lost on me. The tiny token is appreciated far more than the oversized gems and weighty crowns that have been given to me in Peeta's name. "The bird," I ask, running my fingers along the engraving, "is it a mockingjay?"

He nods, "Open it."

I pop the locket open. On the right side there is a miniature portrait of my family. It's a replica of one that used to hang in the banquet room of the castle where I grew up.

Itsy and slightly younger versions of Prim, my parents, and the remaining members of the Hawthorne family stare back at me. On the other side of the locket small folded up pieces of crisp white paper are tucked into the ridges of the locket.

"Katniss," he says resting his hands on mine, "I don't want to forget who you are. I don't want you to think that you have to remove yourself from your family and your previous life because of this marriage. That's why I brought you here to Taraxa, I thought you might enjoy all of this," he motions towards the canopy of trees that surrounds us, "I know you're unhappy at my palace. I know you look down all of us for the excess and the vanity, but I want you to know that no matter what happens between us, you have free reign to do as you please. If what you really desire is to settle down in a simpler estate, I can provide that for you."

My Peeta, I think, he's put so much effort into a little locket, just to make me happy.

"I want to see my family," I blurt out.

His tone turns unnaturally sour, "I can give you Prim, and she would have to come to Panem. That is all I can promise."

I throw my arms around his body and embrace him. "Thank you," I say with a kiss to his cheek.

He gently plies my arm from his back. His hands push a stray strand of wet tangled hair is pushed as he struggles to find his voice.

"Katniss, there are things about your family-" he stops and calms his voice, "There are things I haven't been telling you."

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! I had mono and now I currently have a low fever (maybe it's mono, I supposedly got over that but who really knows). If this chapter is off it's because I didn't write this when I was lucid. I'm going to go back and have it edited/change it up a bit eventually. Thank you for staying with my story and sorry about my writing habits (I swear my life drama just refuses to cooperate with my writing schedule). I do love this chapter, but the actual writing needs to be tweaked. It is sort of a bipolar chapter too and it has to be a bit more fluent.**

**This turned out a lot less sexual than I originally intended. I had mono and well, try writing smut when you have mono.**

**As always thanks to my beta prisspanem and thanks to all the people who messaged me trying to get me to update, it is those responses that made me write even when I wasn't feeling great.**

**Anyways YAY! Part one of the "big twist" is coming:) Also, we get to see more serious Katniss.**

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I post a lot of spoilers/updates/inspirations on there, so make sure to check it out!**

**Remember to review, it really makes my day:)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games Trilogy universe. All characters, names, and places go to their respective owners.**

* * *

I look at him, not knowing what to expect, "What do you mean,  _things you haven't been telling me?_ "

He sighs, "I don't even know where to start."

My heart quickens at his lack of a real response, "Are they hurt?  _Dead?_ " I ask him.

"Who exactly?"

"Who do you think! My family!" I say in agitation.

He bites his lips inward, "Your sister, Primrose, she's safe."

"And my father?"

Peeta looks away from me, not daring to meet my eye, "Katniss, I don't know how to-"

My stomach sinks and a sharp pain, almost like lightning, shoots through my heart, "What happened?" I say in desperation, "Peeta, please," I bring my hand to my mouth and try to quell my sobs.

He gives a deep sigh and rubs his fingers against his temples, "I didn't think anything was going to happen! I didn't think they would go through with it, I thought if I gave into their demands, I thought that if we waited it out they would give up," Peeta pulls at his hair, "I tried, Katniss, I tried."

And at those words, at the anguish that fills Peeta's eyes, I know my father's fate.

"You tried!" I cry out with a sharp intake of breath.

"It's a very," he pauses, taking a deep breath "-complicated, political affair. We have a pretty good idea of what the circumstances may be, but I really don't believe this is the right moment to discuss that… Katniss, I'm so sorry," Peeta reaches out towards me and places his arm around me in an attempt to console me.

I throw his arms off of me, gnashing my teeth together and digging a hand into his thigh, "Who did this, who did this," I cry out to him.

"The barbarians, the people from the north, whatever you want to call them,"

The barbarians? My head spins at the thought. The 'barbarians' as they were commonly referred to in Panem, were the collection of people, mainly survivors, who settled in the ruins that resulted from the Dark Days. What business could they have had with my father? From my knowledge

"Tell me," I say, tears pouring over as the numbness of hyperventilation fills me brain, "Is there a glimmer of hope, anything to hold on to, that he's not," I take a deep breath, unable to say the word, " _dead._ "

"At first we assumed that it was a hostage situation. We thought that were using him as leverage, stealing my father in law in an attempt to make me meet their demands."

"And?" I say, my voice raw.

"And we never received a notice of demands. We waited and waited, and then… somebody torched my estate closest to the border and left," he falters, " _a body_ in it's stead."

"And you're sure, you're," I close my eyes for a moment, letting the tears hit my cheekbones, "you're certain that it's him?"

He glances downward, "The body, it matches your father's description. I've arranged for one of your cousins to come down and confirm it. I wouldn't look to that as a sign of hope, Katniss. We're relatively certain it's him. Oh, Katniss," Peeta takes a heavy breath, "I'm so sorry."

I bite down on my palm and let the wracking sobs take control of my body. My father, the man who raised me, the only parent I had left in this world was I gone.

"I'm never going to see him again," I cry, "I'm never going to see my father again. He's just gone like that, out of nowhere I just, he's just, gone from me."

"I should have known, I should have had a chance to make peace like this, and now you've just thrown all of this at me. He was my father! I deserved to know, I deserved a chance to apprehend this," I choke back on the tears, "How could you do this to me?" I cry out with a pitch, collapsing against the ground.

Peeta wipes the tears off his face, his voice is pained as tells me, "I'm sorry. Please, I made a mistake. Nobody was supposed to know, it was a private council matter. I didn't think this would happen, I thought, I thought, I was protecting you. I didn't want you to go through the pain of knowing he was taken if we could save him. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for what this is doing to you."

And that's when it snaps. The pain and anguish rips at me, and I feel the anger flow through me as I lash out at Peeta.

"I hate you," I say, gnashing my teeth, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" The rage bubbles through my body as I push against him, my nails clawing into his chest.

"How long have you known?" I stare directly into his eyes, my voice raspy as a mixture of anger and pain soars through my body. I wring my fingernails through his shirt and twist the garment until the collar pulls tightly against his throat.

"How long!" I yank his collar downwards.

Peeta turns his face away from me, "Katniss."

"Look at me!" I scream desperately, "How long have you known?"

"Please, Katniss."

"Tell me!" I scream desperately, "I deserve that much from you."

"It started on our, our wedding night," he sounds almost broken when he speaks, so unlike any emotion I've ever seen from Peeta, "I found out that evening."

Our wedding night? It doesn't even make any sense. How could have done that to him so soon?

"How?" I say, "How did they get to him that quickly?"

"They raided shortly after my men were gone. A messenger arrived the evening of our wedding. It was why I was so late."

"And you didn't tell me? I didn't deserve to know because I'm not part of your precious council?"

Static dizziness overcomes my body and I feel my limbs turning to gel as I process the emotions surging through my body.

"Katniss, please, look at me?"

His words are the last thing I remember before I feel my body collapse against the grass.

* * *

When I wake I am propped up against a pillow. Once again, I am greeted by Peeta's face. He's resting on a plush red chair that clashes with the blue and white wallpaper of the room. It's a very well decorated room, dark heavy furniture, white bedding, and simple decorations that feel right in place. I have to imagine the chair was dragged here from another room.

"Oh thank the gods, you are finally awake," a sad smile graces his lips.

"What happened?" I blanch. My vision swirls as I attempt to pull myself into a sitting position.

"Katniss," he says, placing his hand on my arm, " You look a little pale. Would you like a servant to get you some water? Maybe a bucket if you feel the need?"

I blush, slightly embarrassed at the thought. "No, I'll be fine. Did I pass out?"

"You collapsed," he strokes the vein that runs along my arm, "I suppose the news of your father was too much for your body to handle."

At his words it all comes rushing back to me. My father, Peeta's betrayal. I move his arm away from my arm.

"You're right. Finding out that your father is dead and your husband is a  _liar_ is a lot to handle. Perhaps you should remember that next time you keep secrets like that," I say in the most callous tone I can muster.

Peeta casts his gaze downwards, "I'm sorry Katniss. I'm sorry and I know this doesn't mean anything to you right now, but I was only trying to keep you from harm,"he says with kiss to my forehead before he turns to exit the room.

As Peeta leaves the guards stationed at my room close the doors with a sharp squeal that sends a stabbing pain to my head.

* * *

I spend the next couple of days squirrelled away in the bedroom. I spend the majority of the time in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes dealing with the waves of grief that overcome me.

Sometimes my guilty conscience rolls through scenes of the different arguments we had, sometimes I just stare into empty space wondering how my father could truly be gone. How could it be that the man who held me and protected me as a child, the man who taught me how to hunt and sing, is never coming back to me?

* * *

It's not until the morning of the third day that Peeta reaches out to me. He's wearing a royal blue, almost military styled, knee length jacket with thick linen breeches when he greets me in the bedroom I've been holding up in.

"Katniss," he says, his voice tender in the way you would speak to small child, "I was wondering if you would like to go downstairs, maybe get some fresh air?"

I look away from the window I'm staring out of and turn in my chair, "No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"You really ought to-," he starts, placing his hand on the frame of the doorway.

"I'm fine," I repeat, "I told you, I'm fine."

"You aren't," he says, "You should get out. I don't have to come if that would make you more comfortable, you could have lunch in the courtyard if that suits you."

"No," I say, turning my head back to the window, "Come. Sit down," I say, motioning towards the bed.

Peeta closes the door behind him before carefully seating himself on the edge of the bedside closest to my chair.

"Do you… want anything?" he asks.

"No," I say, briefly glancing at him, "Just sit."

He adjusts his position, shuffling around a bit before settling.

"You know," I say, pausing to observe a couple of finches, "I would have forgiven you eventually for the women you slept with before me. I would have gotten over it, I was trying to stay in your favor, but this. I don't know if I can ever forget what you've done."

He gives a deep, audible sigh, "I know, Katniss, I know. I can't imagine how you-"

"No," I cut him off, "you can't."

"I lost my father when I was only a child," he says, filling the silence with his anecdote, "I don't remember much about it. He wasn't sick for long beforehand, and then in two days he was just gone."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

"Don't be, it's been years, I've adjusted. My father was a good man, a good father too, but my family isn't like yours.

We never saw much of each other, and we certainly didn't care for each other in the way your family does. You know, some say it was my mother that did that to him."

"Did what," I say.

"Killed him. They say it was poison or the likes, all of the doctors who were with him in his final moments are dead anyways, so nothing to confirm it. It makes sense though; I was easy to control then. She knew the two of them would have complete control if they got the reins while I was young.

I feel sympathy towards Peeta. My mother had her own problems, but her depression was nothing compared to Peeta's mother. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to come from a family where you suspected your mother of murdering your father.

"Your family, they sound pleasant," I tell him.

He gives a thin laugh, "They are something, that's for sure. I have two older brothers, you know? They are the products of my mother's first marriage, her favorites of course. I barely even know them. My mother kept us apart as children, lord knows what she has told them about me, they will never visit me voluntarily, always coming up with excuses about why they can't come for a visit," his voice is full of pain that he tries to cover up with a weak smile.

"Come here," I say, feeling a sporadic glimpse of sympathy towards the man who has lied to me, "come here and I'll kiss you."

His brow furrows in confusion, but he dutifully trots over to my little corner of the room, uncertainly pausing when his body meets the side of my chair.

In a gesture of solidarity I pull my body up and kneel against the velvet fabric of the armrest so that my body is parallel to his. I bring one hand delicately to his chest before locking my lips against his in a simple lingering kiss.

As I pull apart from him we both lock gazes for a moment, each of us taking a breath to examine the other's pain before crashing against each other in a desperate hasty moment.

My needing tired lips meet his with a fervor that I've never experienced before. His hands move roughly against my back and he lifts me up by the knees, pulling my body off of the chair and tossing me against the bed.

Our kisses are heated and frenzied, so unlike the calm lingering kisses we have shared before. Peeta's hand slides over my thigh, stopping right below my waist. I push my hands through his hair as he moves our bodies deeper into the bed.

It seems like hours before we finally stop the mutual barrage of mouths and hands.

"Well," I say, panting as I collapse into the mattress, "that was something."

He nods, "It certainly was. We  _really_  have to stop doing that."

"That wasn't forgiveness, if you're wondering."

"I know," he says, the mood shifting.

We lay there for a few moments before Peeta cuts through the silence, "Did you know my father wanted us to marry?" he blurts out.

I blink, "Your father? Why? I don't benefit you politically or socially."

"My father and your mother, they were engaged once. He loved her, but your mother ran off with your father. I guess he wanted to give me the chance he didn't have."

 _My mother?_ I think  _Engaged to Peeta's father?_ She had never mentioned it while she was alive, but she never really mentioned anything about her past life in Panem. It was an unspoken rule in our family to never mention my mother's family or beginnings.

"But we were never engaged? Why not, if your father wanted me for you?"

I try to imagine what my life would be like, what my marriage with Peeta would be like, had I been promised to him at my birth. I would have spent part of my formative years in the Capitol. We would have been companions as children, and perhaps even true lovers when we grew up. Peeta would have been my "Gale". He would have been the person who held my secrets and saw my tears. How different would I have been, if I had grown up alongside Peeta?

"I suppose your father wasn't too keen on giving his eldest to his wife's former fiance? I'm not entirely certain, it certainly would have been economically and politically helpful to your family."

My heart grows weary once more at the thought of my father. Peeta's suppositions didn't really sound like the man I knew. He wasn't bitter in that way, nor did he have the political mindset a King really ought to. My father, my beautiful sweet father, was more of an idealist than anything else. His decision to give me Gale as a husband was a way of protecting me. As Gale's wife I would have been able to remain in my home, and most importantly I would have been able to be my homeland's Queen, even if was just as consort. My marriage to Peeta was out of desperation, nothing more, but at the very least I had some semblance of a choice. . That was important to him, that we had a choice. I suppose it was why Prim, beautiful innocent Prim, the type of girl who attracted powerful suitors, had never been betrothed to anyone.

 _And yet,_ the daunting voice fills my thoughts,  _he handed you to Peeta in the end anyways?_

"I was engaged to Duchess Anne once, you know?" Peeta notes anecdotally.

"Annie," I say with the raise of an eyebrow, "Your friend, Duke Finnick's wife?"

He smiles, "Yes, it was right after you father rejected my father's proposal. I was still swaddled and she was nearly nine. Back then she wasn't a Duchess, she was simply Anne of Darya, but her father had a strong lineage and my father admired her mother's beauty. It was one of many engagements I had as a child."

"Ah," I say, quirking an eyebrow, "Even as a young child you managed to get around with the ladies?"

He laughs, "That I did. What about you? Did you have any young gentlemen callers?"

I shrug, "Not really. Boys were always scared of me."

"I can see that, a girl as pretty as you. I'd be scared too."

I blush, squirming at his words, "I don't think it was that, I was a  _rough_ child, that's all. I miss that, you know?"

"Miss what?" he says, running his finger against my thigh.

"Everything. My childhood, Prim,  _my father_. This world is foreign to me."

Peeta's tone becomes heavier, "I can give you Prim, if you want? I could have her come to the Capitol," he pauses, "or, if you want, you could go out to one of my summer estates and stay there with her for a few months. Perhaps that would be best, with everything that's happened?"

I mull it over. It would be nice, the countryside, my sister, getting to relax away from the madness of the Capitol.  _But how would that look? If I separated from Peeta, my new husband, who I supposedly loved, for months on end?_

"No," I say, wrapping my arms around his chest, "Not now," I say, "I want to stay with you."

Peeta gives a little sigh at my words and he wraps his arm around me, pulling our bodies closer, "That's probably for the best. It will be the perfect weather in a few months for my estate in Foxfield, perhaps the two of you could go then?"

I nod against him, "That sounds nice."

His hand drifts lower, "You will love Foxfield, it's in the mountains, reminds me a bit of Seam. You know?" he says, "If your sister gets to the Capitol soon enough, perhaps she will get to see that cousin of yours again? He's meeting me to discuss  _matters_ next week."

"Cousin?" I say inquisitively.

"Yes, the one who is next in line. The Duke of Viento, I believe? You two were close, weren't you? It should be nice for you to see him again, especially now."

I don't respond because all I can think is  _Gale. I'm going to see Gale._

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for sticking with me:) I've been doing exams so it's a little later than I planned, but I hope you enjoyed! FYI Darya is 'Sea' in Turkish, which is why I chose that for Annie. Viento is apparently a word for wind, which is why I gave it to Gale.**

**As always, I would like to thank my lovely beta, PrissPanem, for editing this chapter. You can check out her Prince!Peeta story 'Tales of Panem' on her page.**

**I would also like to give a big thanks to GranddaughterofCaskettandTiva for graciously going through the first few chapters and editing out the mistakes:)**

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I post a maps, inspirations, spoilers, gifs, etc. for my fanfics on there.**

**I swear everlark will catch a break eventually:) There is a lot of fluff in the next handful of chapters.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, places, and names belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

Gale throws his arms around me, lifting me into the air and throwing me around before plopping me down, causing my the light yellow fabric of my skirts to puff up as my feet hit the ground.

"Catnip," he says dotingly, "I've missed you."

I smile and give him a big squeeze, "Right back at you," I say gleefully, leaning into him and pressing my head against his shoulder. Everything about Gale reminds me of my father. The steel gray eyes, the dark ruffled hair, even the light scent of pine that always seems to follow Gale brings forth memories of my father.

I squeeze Gale for a moment, my hands wrapping around his shoulders as I grip myself to the only piece of home I have left. It's only when I feel my husband's hand resting against the small of my back that I step back and let go.

"Katniss," he says almost warningly, his arm wrapping around my waist.

Gale stares directly at Peeta with an almost steely gaze, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty."

Peeta nods, "Likewise for me, Your Grace. My men will handle your company. Why don't you allow me to show you the gardens."

Peeta firmly takes my hand as the three of us walk leisurely through the back gardens. With him between the two of us, I can barely look at Gale. It's too odd- too confusing, to have the two men who have defined my life so close to each other. A few months ago I couldn't have even dreamed up this scenario. How could I? There was no reason to believe never that Gale, the boy who I grew up thinking I was going to marry, would be walking alongside the man I ended up calling husband.

"Here," says Peeta, motioning towards the golden gate that encircles the front of the palace, "is the public entrance. It would be my recommendation that you avoid this quarter of the grounds while you are visiting, the place is filled with tourists and peddlers during the afternoon hours."

Gale raises an eyebrow and gives a look, "The public is allowed to enter the palace?"

Peeta nods, "Any man in possession of a sword is allowed to enter the courtyard during certain hours, but the gardens and residences are restricted to the servants and those who have been invited to court."

The two of them chatter about polite subjects like palace regulations for a few minutes, leaving me out of the conversation.

"Peeta?" I ask, interrupting a discussion on the guards' uniforms, "Shouldn't you be heading to that meeting you scheduled earlier?"

Peeta gets the hint, "Oh, of course, I probably should be heading over to the East Wing right now," he reaches over to shake Gale's hand, "It was a pleasure getting to meet you. Katniss, why don't you show our guest the grand parlor?"

* * *

The grand parlor is beautiful. A sprawling arrangement of plush sky blue sofas and lounges litter the room, filling it with a more casual vibe than the rest of the palace. While the seating itself is alluring, it's the canopy of painted cherubs and heavens along the ceiling that makes the room.

"Wow," Gale says, taking a moment to study the elaborate room as he settles into his seat, "this certainly is something."

I nod and give him a small smile. I remember what it felt like when I first arrived here. The grandeur, the ostentatious splendor of it all, had felt overwhelming to me. I can see that Gale, a man who prefers log cabins and cotton breeches over palaces and velvet suits, looks rather out of his element in this room.

He fidgets uncomfortably in his royal blue jacket, "This place, it's very…" he stops, trailing off to avoid being offensive.

I give him a smile, "I know," my voice saddens with longing for the simple home I once knew, "I feel it every waking moment I spend in this place."

"Do you enjoy it here?" he asks me in a low voice, his eyes suspiciously glancing at the guard standing in the doorway, "Be honest."

"'Enjoy' is a bit of a strong word," I admit, "It's not home, but it's not particularly bad."

Gale places an assuring hand on my arm, "He doesn't, hurt you? Does he?"

"No!" I say, rushing to assure him, "Peeta's a lot of things, but he would never hurt me, not in that way."

Gale bites his lip, "That's good, Katniss. That's good," he falters before changing the subject, "I heard they are reorganizing the taxes this year. Perhaps you could speak to your husband about working on a policy for Seam?"

The rest of our conversation is stoic, removed in a way that we never were together. I can't help but wonder if all of my relationships with the people I was so close with before will end up like this. Will I even know what to say to Prim when she arrives? Will she look at me as a stranger, some person who wasn't even there for her when her father died?

* * *

The moments I spend in Gale's company are brief. Both my husband and my former fiance spend hours on end locked away in the counsel room disputing over trade initiatives, or something of that matter.

With Peeta and Gale preoccupied, I spend my time in the company of Duchess Effie, who decides that we should hold a banquet in Gale's honor on the night that he leaves. Gale is certainly not the most important guest that has visited the palace over the past weeks, but with the recent lack of entertainment and dismal turn of events, Effie decides that a banquet is the perfect event to make the court perk up a bit.

By now, the word of my father's passing has spread throughout the palace. The people are told it was a freak hunting accident, a lie concocted by Panem's officials. When I demand to know the reason for the cover up, the only answer Peeta gives me is that there is 'no need to alarm the people'. In some show of support the palace residents wear black mourning gowns for the banquet. One of my maids tells me that even the common merchants hold a service in the square to honor my father.

* * *

The banquet is held in the same hall where Peeta and I dined for our wedding. Tables of food filled with relatively simple dishes of venison and hearty soups line the walls along the right, while the other side of the room is filled with mingling guests and a handful of casual dancers.

The servants dress Peeta and I in fine black mourning clothes. He wears a solid black silk suit with fine silver trim, while I sport a black sack back gown, that is, with the exception of the night black color and the string of near black pearls around my neck, not all that different from the other gowns I wear.

Despite the dreary attire, the members of court still manage to make their outfits appear outlandish. Large towering wigs adorned with black lace and decorated bird cages, a fashion that I had been quite mercifully spared of, top many of the ladies' heads. It's not just the wigs though, even the mourning attire manages to be ornate. Piles of night black lace, ribbons, and sashes adorn the women's gowns. I can't imagine what the expense must be, yards and yards of lace, which has to be painstakingly made by hand, just to put on a dress that will be probably only be used for a handful of occasions.

Peeta and I make our entrance a full hour after the party begins. Although the entire event is supposed to be in honor of Gale, I barely see him for most of the evening. Instead of allowing me to spend time with the cousin I hadn't seen in ages, Effie forces me to socialize with my ladies in waiting.

The women are unsurprisingly just as disinterested in me as they were before. Lady Glimmer, Clove, and a few of the others chat amongst themselves while I stand awkwardly amongst them, barely noticing whatever new fashions they are discussing. The only real solstice I have in the group is Madge. At my request Peeta had placed her in my court, but neither of us are big talkers so we don't really affect the conversational topics.

It's to my great relief when Peeta slips into our little circle, requesting me to dance with him and rescuing me in the process.

* * *

The allemade is a simple, almost whimsical dance in which four couples dance in a circle, occasionally pairing off for a few steps. I can't help but laugh as Peeta, a man who has spent years of his life mastering dance, fumbles on a few of the steps.

"Katniss!" Peeta says, giving a mock frown, "don't laugh, I can't help it. I'm impaired, I swear!"

I throw my hands over his neck, breaking the routine to give him a quick kiss, "I pity your dance instructor."

Peeta laughs, finding my arm as we break off into a more complicated paired dance, "His name was Claudius Templesmith," he says, his voice pitching as he mocks the false snotty tone that some of the nobles use, " and he was certainly not amused by my 'clumsy feet and graceless steps'. Although, in my defense the allemande was not in fashion when I was a boy."

The dance slows, allowing us to mingle on the sidelines while a new group joins the floor. It isn't long before somebody taps my shoulder, causing me to turn around.

"Katniss, would you like to join me for a dance?" offers Gale. He's dressed in a nice black silk suit with gold trim, an outfit that makes him look nothing like himself, but even under the fancy attire I can still see the boy I used to roll around with in the forests.

Our dance is complicated so we don't carry on much conservation. Instead the two of us just silently carry out the steps, our eyes barely meeting as we pause for the turns. After, when we have finished a few rounds and I can no longer spot Peeta, Gale and I navigate towards a relatively uncrowded corner of the room.

"It's disgusting," he says, not bothering to keep his voice low, "a few of them just went outside to puke up their meal."

"I know." I say, and I do. Wasn't I just as appalled when I came to Panem?

"Do you?" he says with a shake of his head, "Because from my perspective," he motions towards me with a throw of his hand, "you seem to be blending in quite fine."

"What are you implying exactly, Gale? Just spit it out."

"You're so- different," he says, "the dresses, the perfectly graceful steps, the way you dote after that man," Gale throws his hands up in frustration, "It's not you, Katniss. How is it that you have changed so much over the course of a few months? How is it that the girl I knew, the one who carried knives in her stockings- the one who always wore a sharp tongue and a quick scowl- How is it that she has become all of this?" he motions towards my powdered and puffed appearance, "Have you forgotten who you are?"

"Gale," I plead, "don't!"

"You can't do this, Catnip," he says, his use of my nickname almost in jest, "Everybody expects you to be different. You can't become one of them."

"I'm not becoming 'one of them'," I hiss under my breath, worried that somebody will notice our heated conversation.

"Just don't forget, Katniss. There are a lot of people outside of this little fantasy world you have with your little Capitol husband, people that you used to care about. Imagine, is this what your father would have wanted for you? We finally have a chance to fight for what we deserve, and you have to start deciding who you belong to; him or your people."

"I don't belong to him."

Gale shakes his head and gives me a look full of pity, "Tell me this Katniss, has hemanaged to purchase your soul in accordance with your bed?"

* * *

I turn in early for the night, giving the excuse that I feel ill. Usually they wouldn't let me off the hook that easily, but Duchess Effie accepts my excuse because I have been feeling a little nauseous lately.

Peeta comes to bed a couple of hours earlier, his hands resting against the door frame as he throws his jacket on one the vanity, "I heard you were feeling ill, are you alright?"

"Am I a purchase?" I ask him outright.

"What?" he says, closing the door.

"Is that what I am to you? An ignorant little girl who you bartered for like cattle?"

"No," he says, his forehead twisting in confusion, "Have I done anything to make you think something so harsh?"

My eyes blink as I hold back the tears, "It's just the truth, isn't it? You bought me like a man would purchase a slave girl."

"Why do you do this, Katniss?" Peeta says, his voice turning up in anger, "Why do you destroy every advantage we make? You accuse me of sleeping with other women, you yell at me at every turn? Am I that revolting to you, that you need to turn yourself away at every chance we get?"

"Why can't you just let me be?" I cry out to him, curling tighter in the chair.

"I can't help it. I don't want to let go of you," his tone softens a little and he reaches out to me.

I scoff, removing his hand, "I'm sure you've said that a million times before, to a million different women."

"Oh," Peeta says, his voice twisting in a way I have never heard him do before, "Don't pull that card with me, not when you were having heated conversations with your pretty little beau for all the world to see."

"He's not my beau, Peeta. Don't make it into anything it's not."

He laughs, "Oh really, because everybody was gossiping about your little lover's quarrel back there. How do you think that makes me look? I can't even keep you away from your cousin."

"It wasn't-" I protest.

"Tell me then, Katniss," his words are sharp, almost cruel, "Have you ever kissed him."

My eyes cast downward and my face floods at the thought, "No," I lie.

He looks at me incredulously, "You aren't a very good liar, Katniss."

"Would it matter?" I say in a hoarse whisper, "If you were really taking your part in your 'ladies' and I was sneaking off with Gale? None of this means anything."

"Of course it would, Katniss," his brow furrows and his voice lowers, his anger lowering.

"Why?"

"Because," he says, pausing, "it just wouldn't be right, and as I have previously stated, I'm not going to soil our marriage bed. I hope you are willing to give me the same respect."

"Can you really be satisfied with me? For the rest of your life? I know many girls have given you far more than I have. Would you really rebuke them for the simple pleasures of my bed?"

He gives me a sad smile, "I can certainly 'make do', Katniss. I've said it a thousand times, and I will say it a thousand more. I'm not going to be with any of them, I'm really not sure what more assurance I can give you," he lowers his body so that he is kneeling beside me, "Why don't we chalk all of this down to your grief, how about that? We can forget it ever happened."

I sigh, the heavy emotions flowing through my body turn to thoughts of my father and I find myself almost instantaneously tearing up.

"I really loved him, you know?" my face turns away from the window, "He was the only parent I had left. Now all I have is Prim."

He gives me a half smile, "I know, I'm sorry for my little outburst. I wasn't thinking about how you are feeling right now."

He moves closer to me and his arm catches mine, "Come on, let's go to bed-" he starts.

"Kiss me," I interrupt him, my face stained with tears, "make me forget."

Peeta gives into my demands, his lips finding mine. He's hesitant at first, his gentle touches almost feeling like he's scared that I'm going to break into a million pieces, but eventually he stops worrying about my fragility and puts his focus on pinning my body against our bedroom wall.

His fingers quickly undo the pins that hold my stomacher in place. The piece of fabric is hastily tossed to the ground, allowing him to slide his hands under my dress and untie my stays.

His lips are soft and warm, so unlike my own chapped angry ones, and I find myself wanting more of him than I ever have before. Instead of being satisfied with his actions, I only built up need, greedy unexplainable need. It isn't long before he throws me against the bed and buries himself inside of me, the angry conversation from earlier long forgotten. 

The moment is more intimate, more raw than the other times we have been together. Even the feeling of him crashing into me seems to be oddly more intense than it was in the other times we have been together. Maybe it's only because we haven't been together in a while, but I can't help but feel more connected to him than I ever had before.

And after, when I'm safety curled up against his bare chest, my body pressed against his in the clean white sheets of our be, he just says it, no warning, no apprisal of any kind, just the feeling of him playing with the tangled strands of my hair

"I love you," he says in a just audible whisper, "that's why it matters."

* * *

_**End of Part One** _

* * *

**Author's Note: We have finally reached a turning point in the story! [Spoiler: I would take note of Katniss's mood swings if I was you;)] As always, I would like to thank my amazing beta, PrissPanem, for editing this chapter.**

**Remember to review. I'm looking forward to hearing what you thought of that ending!**

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I post spoilers and inspirations for my stories on there.**

Historical Note: The allemande was a popular aristocratic dance. Marie Antionette in particular popularized the  _contredanse allemande_  in the last quarter of the 18th century.

I may have mentioned this previously, but a 'sack back gown' is a casual term for a 'robe à la française', a fashionable gown that would have been worn by many members of the upper class.


	18. Chapter 18

**Dislaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, places, and names belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

The words flash through my head.  _I love you, I love you, I love you._ What could he have even meant by that?

" _Oh?_ " I question, my forehead creasing in confusion as I try to understand exactly what he has said to me.

"Oh?" he whispers back at me.

I don't-" I start, trying to make him comprehend.

"I know," he breathes, "It doesn't matter, you aren't required to return it."

It's impossible, really, for him to love me. Maybe he doesn't even know what it means. I've seen his mother; I doubt his parents ever demonstrated any sort of love. Even familial love may not be a concept he is able to grasp, with his father dead and his mother being the person she is. Maybe he had heard those words so many times, written in the fairy tales that were read to him as a child and spoken by languished lovers in the plays he attended; he just wanted to believe that he could have that too, even if it was with me. He must be some sad, desperate boy projecting his stark childhood onto me.

It had to be that; the other option was just too much to think about.

His hand settles against my naked back, "I've felt this for so long," he gives me a content sigh, "You can't imagine what a relief it is to finally let go of it. I've been waiting for the right moment. Maybe this isn't it, exactly, but I couldn't contain it any longer. You have to understand that."

"I don't think I understand any of this.." I whisper against his skin.

His face floods with disappointment, "Of course, I was being foolish. I should have known better, I just hoped that maybe," he trails off.

"I'm sorry," my voice breaks and I find myself pulling away from his body. I clutch the sheets against my bare chest. Even though we had done the most intimate thing a woman and a man can do together not less than an hour ago, I suddenly feel naked in his presence.

Peeta crosses his hands over his chest, "Don't feel sorry, it's my issue not yours. Perhaps I shouldn't have- I just wanted you to know. It was too much, too soon. I apologize," he gives a nervous laugh; "Now I've made you uncomfortable, haven't I? Forgive me."

I press myself against the pillow, my mouth slightly parting in a futile attempt to make some sort of response.

"Let's just," I falter, "let's just go to sleep."

Peeta nods, "You're right," he gives a heavy sigh, "I think we are both too tired for this conversation. We can deal with it in the morning."

"Goodnight," I tell him, rolling around to the far end of the bed.

"Goodnight, Katniss."

For yet another night we both sleep at opposite ends of the bed.

* * *

Surprisingly, when the light floods into the room the next morning my husband is still lying on the other side of the bed. Usually he wakes up at dawn and is gone by the time I awake, but today he is slouched in the bed reading a political novel.

"Good morning, Katniss," he greets me.

"Good morning, Peeta." I reply, pulling myself up, "You're still here?"

He nods, "I took a day off, I figured we could have breakfast together if you aren't feeling too bad."

I nod, cautiously accepting his offer as a sign that we were both choosing to ignore last night's conversation, "That sounds nice."

He pulls back the sheets and steps out of bed, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him.

"Peeta," I exclaim, "I didn't mean right  _now!"_

"Katniss," he says with a grin, "it's already ten, breakfast isn't going to wait that long, even for the two of us."

I begrudgingly climb out of bed and throw on the crisp white undershift that's waiting for me on the door.

Peeta has the ability to dress himself on the mornings that he chooses, there isn't really much a man needs help with anyways. Vests, breeches, and jackets are designed for functionality, after all. Corsets and underskirts, which all tie in the back, are an entirely different story.

Effie tells me that when Peeta's grandfather was the King of Panem, they made a whole procession of the monarchy's morning routine. Instead of having servants and clothing attendants dress them, the King and Queen were laced up by well respected nobles in a ceremonial, invite only event. Luckily for me, Peeta's father abolished the custom when he became King. Now it's only practiced on certain national holidays as a way to inspire those who are invited to the affair.

By the time my attendants come to shuffle me into my dressing quarters, Peeta is already fitted into a pale blue suit with simple silver accents. My dress, as I later find out, is a near match to his ensemble. The matching blue sack back gown, which has only a ruffled collar and two thin lines of silver brocade to differentiate it from the gown of any other merchant, is oddly simple.

What statement was Cinna trying to make by choosing such a lackluster piece?

Breakfast is shared in the public dining hall. Peeta and I sit at a large gilded table on a heightened platform while a couple hundred various nobles eat below us, anxiously taking note of our every move. I wonder what that is like, to be so obsessed with Peeta that the way he chews his food is the highlight of your day.

 _Any of these girls would be overjoyed to be told that the King loved them._ The thought rings through my head. It's true, even if Peeta was deluded when he said it, pretty much every girl would faint if he spoke those three words to them. Why couldn't I be satisfied that my husband thought he loved me?

"Peeta," I ask, stealing one of the small vanilla cream filled pastries from his side of the table, "Do you think we could go riding into the city today?" It's a good suggestion, a nice normal thing for the two of us to do. I can't think of a more perfect diversion from the conversation we had last night.

Peeta raises his eyebrows in alarm, "In the  _city_? I don't think that would be the  _safest_ thing you could do right now."

"Why wouldn't it be safe? I'm not fragile, Peeta. I will not topple over and die at the sight of commoners."

He falters, "There is a  _sickness_  going around in the public parts of the city. I don't think a ride is worth that sort of risk, don't you agree?"

"A sickness?" I inquire. I remember the disasters epidemics left in the far less populous cities of my homeland. What kind of damage would they do in the Capitol? Especially to those in crowded poorhouses. "Are they doing anything to make sure everybody is getting help? You don't want it spreading too far."

"No," he gives a laugh, "we certainly don't want this type of sickness spreading too wide throughout the country. You don't have to worry yourself over this. I've deployed various aid programs to deal with the situation."

"That's good," I reply, satisfied by his words. The people of this country were so lucky to be given Peeta, so many men of his rank would leave the city to rot.

"If we cannot do that, then perhaps we could take another trip to the greenhouse?" I suggest. We hadn't made a trip up to there since I had received news of my father's passing.

He brushes his hands off on the napkin, "That sounds perfect."

And in that moment, when I'm staring at him, just watching the way his perfectly white teeth take a bite of a pastry, I can't help but feel a glimpse of the same adoration that his Capitol admirers posses.

* * *

After breakfast is over I am pulled into another dressing room where my female attendants put me into one of a floral cotton skirt and a burgundy jacket with a surprisingly low neckline.

The greenhouse looks like an entirely different room compared to my last visit. Over the weeks I have been away different flowers have bloomed and died, drastically changing the aura of the room.

When I find him amongst the tangles of vines and arrangements, he's sitting amongst a few canvases, tending to the dahlias.

"What's with the supplies?" I say, motioning towards the painter's instruments.

He turns his neck to look at me, his eyes lingering at my chest for a noticeable moment, "I always have these here, just in case I get inspired."

I sit down next to him, making sure to pull my jacket up a little higher.

"You look  _nice_  today," he says, "I really should take you up on that offer."

"Exactly what offer are you referring to?" I ask him, curious about the implications of his suggestion.

"Allowing me to paint you, we never quite got around to that."

"I suppose it's hard to find the time to sit for a portrait, especially considering that we go from not speaking to sleeping together on a regular basis. Besides, with everything that has happened over the past few weeks, I'm surprised you even remember that."

Our brief marriage had been nothing but an endless assault of emotions. His abrupt request for my hand, the sudden uproot of my life, last night's confession… sometimes it felt like all we ever did was deal with one turn after the other.

"About that," he places his hand gently on mine, "about last night, we should talk. What we've been doing these past months, it's not healthy for either of us. Last night, when I told you I loved you, I hoped it would change all of  _this,_  but I must have been wrong."

"You don't love me. You're mistaken." I tell him.

His forehead wrinkles, "Did you completely forget last night? You can't pretend like that didn't mean anything."

"Last night," I pause,"was the," I lower my voice and lean in to ensure that none of the attendants can hear us, " _sex_ talking. It's no trouble, I've forgotten it. You should too."

"Fine," he throws his hands up, "If that is what you want, I think it will be best if excuse myself." And with that he storms out of his coat tails flying up in a flurry as he hastily exits the greenhouse.

When he's gone I just lay there, my head propped up against the supporting beam of the glass wall.

How did I manage to make him angry with me? Even after everything we had been through, even after last night's intimacy and his claims of love, I still managed to push him away. I wasn't stupid, eventually he would grow tired of my waning affections. Everybody had their limits, even Peeta, and I certainly didn't want to end up in the pile of reject wives.

" _Oh Katniss,"_ I mutter to myself, " _what have you done?"_

* * *

Peeta finds me, not even an hour later, lying face down in our bedroom.

"Katniss," he says, standing in the doorway, "I'm sorry for my outburst, do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I reply, rolling around to face him. I was tired of talking. That's all Peeta ever wanted to do, talk, and where had that ever gotten us?

"Is there anything that I can do for you? Something that I can give you, something that will make you happy here? Prim will be here soon enough, but if there is anything,  _anything_ that I can provide for you..."

I think about it for a moment. Right now, I had the position of power, there was an opportunity in the patience he still held for me.

What did I want though? I lacked the taste for power, wealth wouldn't do me any good. The only thing I ever cared about in the world was my family and to a greater extent, my people.

There was no real way of protecting them if Peeta lost favor with me. I'd come to the comfortable assumption that he wasn't the type to behead me in a public square, but I certainly wouldn't be able to do any good if he was able to banish me to some summer palace with barely a single person noticing.

I needed the people's favor if I was going to have staying power, and I wasn't about to get the adoration of Panem by holing up in the palace.

"I want a seat. A seat on your council," I tell him, my voice never wavering. It was the perfect start, really. That type of opening move wouldn't go unnoticed, and it would allow me a voice in the highest courts of the land.

"A seat?"

"Yes," I say, "I am the Queen. I deserve the position. It is my duty to be involved in the decision making of this country, and god, I swear if I have to sit through one more silly discussion on the style of lace while you are off running this country I will burst into a million pieces."

Peeta nods, "I suppose I can do that. It will take some work, but I can manage it."

"That's not it," I tell him.

"Oh?" he questions me, "It's not?"

"I want an allotment of funds towards the charity project of my choice. For every year that we are married that allotment will increase by six percent. For every heir that I provide you with I will expect double in a one time payment distributed to the people of my homeland."

It was Gale's suggestion, really, that made me think of my second demand. He was right, I had the ability to change the lives of many, all while gaining their adoration in the process.

"You drive a tough bargain, Katniss," he says with a grin.

"But?" I question.

"But I will give into your demands. I'm afraid I can't resist you," he gives me an innocent kiss on the cheeks before tossing me one of the leather bound notebooks that sit on his nightstand table.

"Here," he says, "you can keep your notes on different propositions here. I can show you how to properly write up suppositions for council meetings if you would like?"

I don't know what he is talking about, but I nod anyways, "Did you mean it?" I ask him, his gentle, patient behavior bringing up the memories of last night.

"Did I mean what? That I was going to give you a spot on my council?" he looks a little perplexed at my question.

"No, the things you said last night- or were you just saying it to quell me," the thought of his feelings for me, however mistaken they may be, brings up so many possibilities.

"Yes," his voice is firm as he speaks, "I meant those words more than I have ever meant anything in my life."

"If it's true, when did it start? Your feelings, I mean," I ask him, wondering how he found the time to love me with all of the anger and bitterness that has been shared between the two of us.

"Well, that's a bit of a loaded question if I am entirely honest. I would say all of this really 'started' eight years ago, that's where the real beginning is," he bites his lip as he waits for my response.

How could it have been eight years? I haven't even known him for eight months, much less eight  _years_?

"Eight years ago?" I question him, "Tell me, how exactly did this start  _eight years_  ago?"

Peeta sighs, "You really don't remember, do you? Madge was right, then?"

I shake my head, utterly confused at the turn of this conversation, "Tell me."

"We were both children, though I was obviously a little older than you. There was some illness going around at the time and my mother thought it best that I leave the palace for a place where I wouldn't be at risk. One of my aunts, Lady Sedna I believe, was a big proponent of fresh air and mountain breeze. She convinced my mother to allow me to join Madge at that little estate along our countries' mutual border. If my recollection is any good I believe it was called Overhill or something to that extent?"

I knew the place, of course. Overhill was a sunny country estate that sat directly in the middle of the border, a really beautiful place to visit. There were acres of bright unsullied tulips, an ancient weave of gardens and basements ripe for exploring, even a little village for the local farmers. It would really be the ideal estate; if it hadn't been the place my mother had decided to kill herself at.

I nod, not going into detail, "There's an Overhill Castle."

I hadn't been to Overhill in years, not since I had found my mother's lifeless body lying in the surrounding bank. My father had signed the estate's deed over to Panem anyways. We had needed the money and the last thing he wanted was to visit the place where his wife had died. In fact, I barely remembered the place after all of these years. Every time I tried to recall some of those happy summer memories my mind was filled with images of my mother's limp body, it was better to ignore everything that happened there than to remember her end.

Peeta continues, "Yes, anyways, you were there at the time, so was your mother."

"My mother?"

He bites his lip, "Yes, it was the year she-  _passed."_

I motion for him to go on.

"Well," he says, "Throughout those months we played together, the three of us. Madge, you, me. We pretended like we were fairies, hiked through the hills, I even got roped into a few faux weddings with the two of you. I know you don't remember it, but when your mother passed away we spent hours by that lake just skipping rocks and ruminating on our losses."

"We did?"

Peeta nods, "Every night for the weeks you remained there. I would sneak  _bread_ from the kit-"

"The bread," I mutter, interrupting him, "I remember, I remember the bread."

And how could I forget? The memories flood back to me. The dapper little blonde boy, who at the time I disregarded as a male version of Madge, racing through the fields and trudging through the forest with the two of us. The long evenings spent catching lightning bugs by the lake. It was all so ideal, that part of my childhood, before it all changed.

"You were with me," I say, "weren't you? You were with me when I found her?"

My husband glances away for a moment, "I was. We found her together."

"I can still remember the way her body looked." I remark, "I remember it in perfect clarity, but I forgot about you. I suppose everything that happened that summer was made trivial by what she did to us."

"Do you really think of it that way? As something she did to you?"

I shrug, "How else am I supposed to think of it?"

"She was troubled. Everybody knows it."

"Oh Peeta," I lament, "nobody knows that she was troubled more than I do, but that doesn't erase that she willingly chose to rob Prim and me of a mother. I can't forgive her for that. You wouldn't either, if you had seen the way my father looked at Prim for all those years."

He gives me a sigh of defeat, "You're right. I have no way to judge your sit-"

But he doesn't get to finish his sentence, there is no time for words as the room explodes with the sound of crashing glass and the thick heavy musk of smoke.

* * *

**Author's Note: What did you think of this chapter? Do you notice anything suspicious? I would like to give a special thanks to my beta, prisspanem, for going through this chapter with me.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. Certain sections of this chapter were modeled after scenes from the books. This was not intended as copyright infringement.**

* * *

The impact with the hard wooden floors of the bedroom knocks the wind out of me. My layers of skirts do little to soften the blow. Fortunately I slide between the wall and the bed, sparing my body the pain and certain death that would result from crashing into the headboard. The bedroom still shakes with explosions. I can't really hear them. I can't hear anything at the moment. But the explosion couldn't have only been aimed at us, because I can still feel the fury of raining debris crashing into the building. I manage to shield my face with my arms as shattered bits of matter, some of it burning, rain down around me through the dash in the bedroom wall. An acrid smoke fills the air, which is not the best remedy for someone trying to regain the ability to breathe.

It's must have been a hand grenade, crudely ineffective in the way the homemade devices tend to be. Even though I'm still struggling to breathe, I can't help but be thankful to the poor design that saved me from death.

But I don't have time to worry about my ear, I barely have time to think about Peeta, because I can still hear the rhythmic exchange of bullets and screams from around me. My worst fears have come true, it's a full waged attack, not just the actions of one misguided peasant.

After about a minute of lying there unresponsive, the floor stops vibrating and some sound returns to my ears. I can just faintly hear his voice calling to me from the other side of the bed.

"Katniss, Katniss, Katniss," he screams at me in desperation.

"Peeta," I flatten myself against the floor and peer at him from under the bed, "what's going on?"

Peeta slides against the carpeting, "Rebels, barbarians, probably a mix," he says, "nobody expected it to happen this soon."

I hold back my questions, whatever was going on at the moment didn't matter, "We're sitting ducks in here," I whisper to him, clutching my damaged ear as the assault of guns continues, "Somebody will be coming for us eventually and if they find us both of our heads will end up on stakes. We both know-"

I pause, my instincts perking up as I hear steps moving through the hallway, another victim being flung against the wall that separates our bedroom from the hallway. It's a girl, I can tell by the pleading, the agonizing scream that follows. Then there's laughter and congratulations from several voices. Someone cries out, "Another one dead," which gets a round of appreciative hoots.

"Three," Peeta murmurs against the floorboards, breaking our trance, "on the count of three, we race for the tunnels. I want you to follow me, and no matter what, don't look back."

"Okay," I affirm.

Peeta slides his foot from under the bed, "One, two, three!" he says, and at his mark we both leap from under the bed and race into my quarters, barely taking a second glance at the bloodied bodies of our guards that lay inside.

Peeta leads me to the door in my quarters, the one that my attendants use to quickly guide me through the palace. It takes him a moment to pry it open, and that pause is just enough for me to make the mistake of looking behind me. There's the girl, the dark skinned servant who sits in my quarters, lying underneath a section of debris.

"Don't, Katniss," Peeta pleads as he pops the door open, "don't look at her, whatever you do, keep on moving."

Peeta goes down the stairs first. With no lantern or candle to light our way, the only thing that breaks through the darkness is the sporadic boom that allows a moment of light to seep into the hallway.

When I feel the warm fresh blood seeping on to the front of my jacket, I place a hand to my left ear, the one that was turned toward the blast, and it comes away bloody.

"Peeta," I tap his shoulder, "my ear."

He doesn't stop or even respond, he just hands me his balled up handkerchief and keeps walking down the stairs. We're further down than I have ever gone before, a lot further, and I can't help but wonder where exactly are we going?

"How far down are we going?" I ask him, my voice low even though I'm certain nobody is listening.

"Not much father," he says, finally stopping at a rusty iron door that he proceeds to pull open.

The hallway we enter is dank and nearly pitch black until Peeta retrieves a torch from the hook along the hallway. The walls are a dark grey stone and the floors are nothing but dirt, I can't help but see the resemblance to one of those dungeons they have in older castles.

From what I can see, there seem to be an endless amount of possible directions to take, but Peeta moves swiftly and surely through the floor, making a dizzying amount of turns in what could only be compared to a labyrinth.

Our destination is nothing more than a large, solid stone bunker with a bolted steel door enclosing it. We're not the only people here either, twenty or so higher nobles and a few of their servants have filled the bunker by the time we are several guards down here too, one passed out against the wall, the others uniformly standing guard at the door, presumably waiting for Peeta's arrival.

The bunker was established in the dark days, when attacks from rebelling citizens and foreign countries were more prevalent, Peeta tells me. Very few nobles, a handpicked group of the most important people in the country and a few guards, actually know the directions to the room. Originally, the bunker was only meant for the immediate royal family, and there were only two entrances, the one located in our bedroom and another in the royal nursery, but eventually somebody decided to build a more accessible entrance and invited a few more nobles in on the secret.

The place seems unable to decide if it's utilitarian or ostentatious. Certain areas of the walls are rough stone, while white plaster and gilded moldings decorate others. Sleeping bunks are hewn right into the rock walls. Stacks of supplies fill the room, blankets, food staples, a small medical station. This place was designed for an extended stay.

The war continues to wage above us, even after hours in the bunker we still feel the occasional aftershock of a bomb. I end up playing cards with the small group of women in my age range, servants and nobles alike. Nobody has time to differentiate between the classes when there are so few of us and we are all equally starved for some sort of distracting entertainment.

* * *

I'm playing a round of bouillotte when Countess Johanna arrives, a distraught, weeping Annie in tow.

"God, Johanna, we assumed you were dead," Peeta exclaims as the two of them collapse into the room. Annie's dress is a little dirty naturally, with a thin layer of dusty debris covering the , but Johanna is completely disheveled. Her dark hair, which is usually pinned up in the latest fashion, sticks up from all directions, and her deep red gown is torn in more than a few places. Her appearance in comparison to Annie makes me question what exactly she has been up to in the past hours.

"Well, I couldn't just leave her," Johanna says with a shrug, motioning towards Annie slumped body.

Peeta relaxes a bit, "I know, Jo. I'm just worried about Finnick. If he's not here now," he trails off.

Johanna glances at Annie, "Finnick is strong, he'll take care of himself, he has know we will never get her back if anything happens," Johanna says, motioning towards Annie.

"You're right," he says with a sigh, "We won't."

* * *

After informing Peeta, in hushed tones no less, of the status above ground, Johanna plops down right next to me and joins the little card game the rest of us are playing.

"So, Princess," Countess Johanna says with a sarcastic air, "you any good at cards?"

Back in Seam playing cards weren't as big of an event, in the Capitol it seemed like it was the ladies ever did. I was good at some different games, the ones that involved strategy and pulling a blank face, but I never managed to do well at the ones that involved lying.

I shrug, "I suppose I'm decent."

Johanna scoots in a little closer, pulling a handful of cards from the pile, "Well, do you want to play for stakes? If anything is left over after this debacle, that is."

I lean in a little closer, "Are things that bad out there?"

She gives a sigh of defeat, "No, it's all candy and dandelions," she remarks with a guffaw, "What do you think it's like out there, Princess?"

I try to ignore her blatant distaste for me, slightly pleased that somebody wasn't bothering to kiss up to me, "And Duchess Anne?" I ask.

Johanna drops the sarcastic tone of her voice, "I found her like this, shaking and terrified, huddled up in some closet."

"But you saved her."

She glances downward, "With everything that has happened to her, I figured she would be holed up somewhere. I wasn't going to led some rebel tear her in two."

"What happened to her?" I ask, curious. Until now the Duchess had always seems like a normal, albeit a little skittish, lady of Panem.

One of the nameless ladies sitting across from us steps in, "You don't know? Oh, it was a topic of gossip for years! A while ago, when dear Anne was only a child, a few vagrant peasants who worked her parents' land stormed the family home. Killed both of her parents, her brother too, Anne only escaped because she had the sense to hide in her play closet. They say she didn't speak a single word for years. Surely you understand, Your Majesty, since you have lost both of your own."

I try to imagine what it would be like. To lose your entire family all at once and then have to live through another, very similar, attack.

"Why did they kill her parents? The peasants?" I ask. I had always imagined everybody in Panem was well clothed and fed, what reasons did they have to go after Annie's parents those years ago, or even us, now?

The woman shakes her head, "Oh, they felt were complaining about fairness, something silly. I don't keep track of those meaningless details."

Johanna gives a light laugh under her breath, "Well, that's one way to tell it. Until Finnick came around Annie wasn't exactly the sanest person in the world," she gives a shake of her head, "Who knows how scrambled her brain will end up this time around?"

* * *

After nearly eight hours spent in the bunker, we all turn in for the night. The men take shifts, one or two of them switching out with the guards every so often in order to ensure our safety.

Peeta and I get the largest bed. It's semi secluded, tucked away in the corner with curtains that we pull around so that we can have some quiet moments.

"I can't hide for much longer," Peeta tells me that night, his legs enwrapping mine as be both lay in dirty clothes we wore all day, "I'm a King, I can't play coward. Next morning, when the dust has settled and everybody has rested on today's actions, I will have to speak to the people, prepare my soldiers if necessary. We're not safe here forever."

And I don't respond, because all I can think about is the dead bodies, fathers and mothers, peasant and noble, that will be found in the morning.

* * *

There is no light when the day breaks the next morning, just the sound of shuffling feet as the guards prepare for Peeta's exit.

Johanna and I mess up Peeta's appearance a little bit. Dirt smudged on his cheeks, a button ripped from his jacket, little changes that make it seem like he did more than sit safely in an underground bunker while everybody else feared for their lives.

"Don't do anything stupid, Peeta," I catch his arm for a second, my mind internally begging him not to leave me here.

"I won't," he places his hand on mine, reassuring me, "I love you, alright. If something happens, please remember that."

* * *

Peeta leaves the safe house two hours after sunrise. Flanked by half of our guards he goes upground to do whatever he can to handle the situation.

Johanna and I play cards again, all of us do with the exception of Annie. Cards, cards, cards, the distraction becomes less and less effective when my own husband is the one up there risking his life.

"Why are they doing this?" I finally ask Johanna, my fingers fidgeting as I toss my cards to her in a round of defeat.

"You can't really be that simple? We all expected more from you, with your origins you were bound to be more than another frilly little girl living out the fantasy of queen. Quite a disappointment, if I do say so myself. Although I suppose you're more naive than simple, Peeta has surely done his best to shelter you," she gives a bitter laugh, "Everybody wants to keep the little Princess protected from the real world."

I flush with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion at her words. What was I missing, exactly?

"What do you mean?" I ask her.

"Oh Katniss," she says, not bothering to use my formal title,"Surely you have caught on by now? Your father's murder, that pretty cousin of yours visiting? Things are changing, people are getting tired of watching their oppressors live out their lives. Shouldn't you understand? I'm sure Seam still has some bitter feelings over the Dark Days."

I flush, "I'm not an idiot, I understand that the barbarians of the north are attacking, but the people of Panem? They are in prosperity, why would they want to harm those who have provided their wealth. I have ridden through their cities, been in their streets, and it's nothing like my homeland."

Johanna laughs, "You were protected, Princess, nobody let you see the worst of it. People aren't starving, not in the way they were in your country, but they are still angry, angry enough to join forces with the others," she shrugs, "Now don't get so worked up, hell was bound to fall on us eventually."

* * *

Peeta calms the people for a few days, gives a speech or something, allows his charming disposition to tide the majority over for a while. There are still riots, smaller though and not directed against the palace.

At the end of the day, sixty four nobles and thirty two commoners die in the attacks. Much to Annie's relief, Finnick is found alive, with nothing more than a few broken bones. The residence that Peeta and I shared suffers a tremendous amount of damage. They say that one of the supporting columns even collapsed, but I never get to verify the claim since I end up spending my hours in another safe room, far away from windows or outside light, for the sake of protection.

It's four solid days until I emerge from my prison of safety. For the sake of public appearances, I join Peeta on the forefront balcony as he gives a speech to the crowds.

The royal balcony is a large stone overhang that sits directly along the front side of the palace. We're not the only ones there, there are a few other nobles in our presence, even a handful of selected working class members are given spots for the sake of appearing 'unified'.

Overall, the speech that Peeta gives is mesmerizing. I had seen at him at work before, the way he crafted his words was almost an art, but today he's enchanting in a way that he had never demonstrated. He's more personal this time, he talks about the way his parents ruled, how he wants to change this nation for the better.

I don't take much notice to most of the actual words in Peeta's speech. Instead I take more notice to the rise in his voice as he speaks passionately to the crows. That is, until he mentions me.

"Although this is an unfortunate time for all of us, I am pleased to announce that there is a light of joy amongst the darkness of this time. My wife, your Queen, is with child. May your blessings fall upon our future heir."

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, there is Chapter 19, I posted a day earlier than planned! Crazy as it may seem, I've been writing this story for over half a year now. What did you think about this chapter and the turn of events in this story?**

**As always, thank you to my wonderful beta, prisspanem. You can follow her on tumblr at prisspanem.**

**If you want to follow me on tumblr, you can find me at starveinsafety.**

**Historical Note: Bouillotte is a popular 18th century card game played during the French Revolution (which I thought was fitting).**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, places, and people are property of their respective owners.**

* * *

I can barely breathe when I first recognize the meaning of his words, but quickly I catch on to the meaning of his lies.

I am pregnant, in the minds of the citizens at least, and that's all that matters. He had done it again. Peeta had managed to reign in on the people with a couple of sentences and an imaginary baby.

The perfect distraction. The 'baby' would keep them contained for a short while. It would keep them from harming me, for no member of Panem, barbarian or not, would side with the murder of a woman who was supposedly pregnant. The people would fawn over the child, it's possible gender and even hair color. They would decorate garlands in the street, rejoice over an heir, and cry when I had a conveniently timed miscarriage.

It was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. How could one person command more peace with his words than an army of thousands?

So when he invites me to the front of the balcony, I wave to the people and give an affirming smile in their direction. I've bought into the lie.

* * *

In the days that follow we both sift back into a resemblance of our routine. My days are spent working on heavily publicized charity functions, like knitting socks for the poor, with my ladies in heavily guarded rooms downstairs and my nights are spent with my husband, sharing a bed together but never really  _sleeping_ with him.

I try not to count how many days it has been since I lost my father. It feels selfish to dwell on it when so many have seen destruction as of late.

The country loses four more in the streets in the passing days. A shopkeeper, perhaps hoping to attract noble customers, displays a sign proclaiming that he will not welcome any boy or man who is believed to participate in the raid.

He is dead within the day.

A foreign noble of little importance traveling from the Capitol to the ocean border in the south is attacked three miles south of the city by a small band of lingering protestors and barbarian born. The papers claim it was an act of random thievery but among Peeta's council it is confirmed that the man was quartered, his body then stuffed and suffocated with every piece of wealth he owned. A purely political act. The other two deaths are the result of street scuffles, fights in alleyways over whether of not Peeta and I were deserving of life. Lord Albernathy makes the claim that those deaths were the most important; as they marked the vastly differing views of the general people.

In a desperate attempt to continue to lull the people into a sense of security, the news of my pregnancy is spread far and wide. The announcement, however, is kept to a limited display. Whereas under usual circumstances rich banners would be displayed, this time the celebrations are focused on the people. Not nearly a day after Peeta hails our 'news' from that balcony, open buffets are given and the palace's own performing group is brought to the public theatre to perform the King's favorite comedies.

It sends a clear message:  _The continuation of the monarchy keeps you fed._ And that's the exact line that is given to the people. They are told to marvel at the prospective birth of our heir, grovel at our feet for gifting them joy over our announcement.

It sickens me, so instead of joining the council as I am now allowed, I play innocent, bumbling, pregnant wife for a few days and keep to donning socks in basements.

* * *

I've always hated chess. It was too symbolic for my position in life. Pawns and Queens and Knights, all being played across a board in order to satisfy the controller. It was a constant reminder of everything that had occurred in my life.

But I'm a decent player anyways, so I join Peeta in the parlor, partly out of sheer boredom, when he requests my presence later that evening.

The first words that come out of his mouth when I hesitantly open the door to the side parlor are simple, "Are you mad?" he asks me, rising in greeting.

"No," I tell him as I sit down on the plush, red velvet chair and begin to arrange my pieces, "I'm not angry. You did what you had to."

It's true, I'm not angry. Slightly annoyed, perhaps, at the lies that I will have to tell to keep up this pretense, but not angry. I can only feel slightly unnerved at his ability to manipulate the crowd. Peeta had this way of putting people in a trance, a way of subduing them with words and gentle tones, but I knew better. People who could so easily turn a mob of rebels aimed to kill him into a group of loyal patriots were not to be trusted.

"How do you do it?" I ask him, "How do you make them love you with nothing more than a handful of words? I can barely make your people look at me with something short of hatred, yet you seem to be able to lull them into adoration at the slightest glance."

"Me?" he says incredulously, "Surely you have realized by now that I am not the one they truly favor? You're right, I can calm them with my words, but at the end of the day it's you they truly relate to. Do you not remember the parade? The way you sought out that little peasant girl? Oh Katniss, the people spoke of that for days."

"Why would they relate to me? I am not even born of Panem," I move my knight across the board, barely caring where I placed it.

Peeta shrugs, "You had a simpler childhood, Princess or not. They see you as 'one of the people', an outsider from the grandeur of the Capitol, which in a way you sort of are. They sympathize with you on that level."

I shake my head, "Nobody here truly likes me, I'm not certainly not charming, barely likeable according to Lord Albernathy."

He laughs, "Oh, Albernathy is a real character. You two are far too similar for him to not like you."

Peeta moves his Queen across the board, " _Checkmate,"_ he says, and I can't help feeling like I, instead of the lifeless hunk of marble, am the one being moved across the board.

* * *

Halfway through the night, nearly one week after the siege, I am awoken by Peeta's violent shakes.

" _Katniss,"_ he says to me, his eyes filled with alarm, " _Get up, we have to go."_

The comparably small bedroom that we now share together at the Palace is tucked away in the heart of the palace. It's not the grandest of the surviving rooms, but it's certainly the safest, with easy access to both the tunnels and the back gardens. Our bed, while slightly smaller than the one we had in our official chambers is still warm and comfortable, so I can't bring myself to pull my body from the comfort of the sheets.

So when I attempt to snuggle back into the blankets, Peeta scoops my semi-sleeping form from the bed and carries me through the hallway.

* * *

By the time I wake up I'm no longer in my bedroom, or any room for that matter, but rather in a moving carriage with my head resting in Peeta's lap. I don't remember much, just the sound of Peeta's feet against the wet, rainy stone of the back yard, but I know one thing for certain. This isn't the royal carriage. No, this one is a little smaller, more discreet, and lined nearly floor to ceiling in a god awful yellow color. It's not nearly as comfortable as our usual carriage, either, but I'm not in a position to complain.

Peeta strokes my braid when he feels me stir, "Katniss, you're awake," he says, drawing me closer to him.

I nod, stretching awake and shifting so that I am lying back against him. He's erect, noticeably so, and I can feel him straining against me from underneath the simple brown breeches he's wearing.

"Really?" I say, glossing my hand over it for only a moment, "That's what you're thinking about right now?"

I don't bother to ask about where we are or why exactly we are running.  _Anything_ , even this conversation, is better than knowing if my nightmares have come true.

He looks the slightest bit embarrassed as he shuffles around, "I'm sorry, alright. It was a bit of a compromising position and I had just woken up."

"Well," I say plainly, "I'm not doing anything about it."

He reddens a bit, "Didn't expect you to. Besides, it's far too bumpy for that."

I pull myself up and shift a little so that I am lying up against him with my head resting on the crook of his neck.

His words are like ice, breaking the unspoken contract of silence between us, "Do you want to know?" he asks.

I contemplate it for a moment, because I know I will have to give in eventually but I'm perfectly happy not knowing what horrible threat on our lives has caused us to pack up and leave in the night like thieves.

It's these words that finally make me crack, "Prim will be there when we arrive," he tells me.

"How did you get her somewhere so quickly?"

"Her guards worked quickly, they hid her along the border when they heard of the siege. Don't worry," he pauses, "I made sure they were thoroughly compensated for their actions."

"Where then," I ask, "are we going?"

"Court is moving to the Estate Ruzalia. It's along the southern border, far away from both my enemies and the cities. There will be no mobs to harm us."

"Why?" I ask, my voice pleading for an answer.

"There's a woman," he whispers to me even though there is nobody else around, "a leader out there in the desolate land up north. They say she's a remnant of the Coin house, but I find that hard to believe."

"Will she have any power?" I question, "Why are you running from such a woman?" It seemed absurd for Peeta to fear a random woman claiming to be of noble blood.

"No, not exactly, but she's quick minded and has started to organize the barbarians, even some of the smaller northern nations have offered help in our destruction. That's a problem, Katniss, a real one. There are more of us than there are of them," he gives a cruel laugh, "Although, somebody has come up with the bright idea to cut off our luxury trades. As if it is Panem who will suffer from the lack of artisanal soaps, rather than their people. It's a delicate system, but they benefit from it to. I don't think they have quite come to that realization, but they will,  _eventually_ , they will come to know that Panem has granted them great liberties. As long as we keep a reign on our people we should be fine."

As I listen to my husband talk I try to recall Gale's heated words of anger towards Panem. Peeta spoke only from his perspective; he had no concept of live past his border, or what it was like to go without bread.

He was oblivious.

* * *

As the night turns into day and the day turns into night, our little troop of carriages, which has only taken a handful of brief breaks, pulls into a small stone inn that rests outside of an equally small village.

Peeta has to carry me inside, tucked in a thick woolen blanket to conceal my nightshift. As I had suspected, we were attempting to arrive as quickly as possible and nobody could waste time going through the trunks in order to find something that fit. So instead Peeta sends somebody to buy a simple, dark wool dress and a string of pearls, a little token to mark that I am more than a commoner, from the village.

* * *

Later that evening when I'm sitting alone at a table on the lower floor, two girls walk up to me, smiles on their faces and hands swinging behind their back.

Even though they seem so much younger, they probably aren't too many years apart from me.

The girl drops into a lopsided curtsy and then giggles, "Bonny said you're a princess or something. You don't look like one."

The other girl, who much be Bonny, slaps her on the wrist, "Momma says don't say those things to your  _superiors_ ," she chides.

"No," I say with a small smile, "it's fine."

"So are you?" the girl says with a gap tooth grin, "A princess? I've never met one before."

"Well," I say, "I was a princess once."

"Really?" the girl's eyes widen with delight, "Are you still one? If I was a princess I would never, ever stop!" she collapses into a fit of laughter.

"You can't keep the same title if you marry."

The girl scoffs, "Well then, why didn't you marry a Prince?"

"I had to settle for a King instead."

"Oh," the girl breathes, her tone suddenly becoming far more serious, "You're  _her_?"

"I'm the Queen, yes," I tell them, feeling a moment of delight at their enjoyment.

"No," the girl says in hushed tones, "you're the  _revolutionary_." she says with fumbled pronunciation, "My pa says you're going to change everything for us."

"I have no idea what you are speaking of," I say, brushing her off.

The older girl gives a knowing smile as she hands me my drink, "It's okay," she says, leaning closer "we can keep it quiet, can't we Bonny?"

* * *

That night I don't share a bed with Peeta. He spends his hours in the tavern room below, probably discussing politics with his men or throwing back a drink with the innkeeper. I don't stick around to find out.

Even in the morning when we start again on our journey, he doesn't join in my our carriage. Instead Johanna, who left with our party on the same night, keeps me company.

Because I trust her not to play around with me, I seek after her for answers regarding what the girls from last night told me.

"Last night at the inn, a girl," I keep the identification vague for their sakes, "called me a revolutionary. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"Oh," says Johanna, waving me off, "that's nothing. Just a silly rumor."

"A rumor?" I question her with morbid curiosity.

Johanna gives an airy laugh, " _Princess,_ they all see you as a symbol of their oppression. Your name has been hailed in quite a few rebel controlled pubs over the past few weeks and that cousin of yours certainly isn't keeping the peace about his views. The peasants view you as some sort of martyr, another lovely piece of the surrounding nations ripped away from home in order to suit the will of the Capitol," she lowers her voice, "Although they certainly shouldn't be hailing you as a hero, they aren't entirely wrong, are they?"

"No," I say, meeting her eye, "they aren't."

And in that moment she gives me a knowing smile, "I hope you will not let down their expectations,  _Princess_."

Just as the understanding passes between us, something hits the carriage, a large stone or maybe a rock, it's not unusual for the bumpy rides to unearth the occasional piece of debris. But this time is different, because it cause alarm amongst the guards, who bring us to a halt and then proceed to leave their posts in order to inspect the incident.

"What do you think happened?" I ask Johanna, attempting to move past our previous conversation. The words we had shared treasonous, worthy of death in the past, and I was the King's wife. According to the law, neither of us had any place to speak of such things.

She shrugs, "I don't know, look out the window?"

There's a scuffle going on somewhere outside, I can hear the raised voices from the carriage.

I turn around in order to face the back window of the carriage. Propping my elbows on the ledge I part the yellow curtains and peek through. We're in a small village, a dusty little town with nothing but a tavern and a shop on what appears to be their main street. There's a small crowd, ten or so people gathered around a post. Just vaguely in the background, I can see the source of the commotion. One of the guards, dressed in the distinguishable gold and red livery, is holding a woman up by the collar of her dress.

Without thinking of the consequences, I hop off of the carriage seat and open the door, almost tripping on the stairs as I exit.

"Guard!" I yell out to the man holding the woman, my skirts bouncing as I race towards the scene "Stop!"

Upon further inspection the woman is younger than I expected, probably not much older than me, yet she has three children huddled behind her.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," the guard looks around sheepishly, "She was causing a ruckus, that boy over there," he spits to the ground and points in the direction of the small child, who can't be much older than ten, "threw rocks at several of the carriages and incited violence against the property of the Crown. Then, after being questioned she provoked my men."

One of the men in the surrounding crowd gives a curse at the guard, "Hey mister, maybe if you stopped pickin' on women and little kids we wouldn't have a problem."

The guard tightens his jaw, "I would keep your mouth shut if I was you. You're bordering on treason."

"I am your Queen, you will release her."

The guard gives me a shrug, "I'm just doing my job, Your Majesty. Surely you can understand be can't let this behavior go by after everything that has happened?"

"Oh, let her go," says the familiar voice with a certain authority that only results from being King, "it isn't worth the trouble. Katniss," Peeta places a hand on my shoulder, "I think it's best if you join me for the rest of the ride."

Somebody in the crowd gives a hoot of support. I turn back to look at Peeta, his stormy eyes meeting mine with disappointment.

"Here," just as we are turning away to leave I slip the string of pearls off my neck and place them in the woman's hand, "take care of those kids for me, alright?"

The woman only nods, and I am hastily escorted by Peeta into his carriage.

Once the door is shut Peeta lashes out at me, "Dear god, what on earth were you thinking Katniss? You could have been hurt or worse! What on earth do I have to do to protect you? Lock you in a metal box?"

"Hurt me!" I cry out with a bitter laugh, "how on earth were any of them going to hurt me? Your armed guards against a few peasants with a handful of rocks? That was far from a fair fight!"

"They were angry, Katniss, and that is very dangerous. You've seen what happened in our own home. You have to learn a little self preservation," Peeta yanks me by the arm, "I  _swear_ , Katniss, if you ever do anything like that again I will take you over my knee and," he pauses, "treat you like a child."

I rip my arm from his grip, "I'd like to see you try."

But instead of yelling at me or chastising me on the importance of safety, Peeta instinctively cups my jaw and pulls me into one brief, passionate kiss.

"I love you," he says, "don't scare me like that again."

* * *

It's not until day break that we pull into the large stone estate that marks our arrival. It's not nearly as big as the Palace, not by any measure, but it's certainly large. From the slightest glance I can count forty windows on just the front building.

"Peeta," I ask, "what is this place?"

"It was once a summer residence for the court. I used to come here on occasion when I was a child; it's quite beautiful, isn't it? Only a short while away from the water," he trails off, "Have you ever seen the beaches?"

I had never seen the ocean on this side of the nation, my experiences were limited to Taraxa and the ports along Seam. A real beach, one that faced a vast ocean had never been within my limits.

"No," I say, "I've never seen the beach."

He nods, "You'll love it. It's different than Taraxa. The water is darker, green almost and not nearly as clear, but it's still thoroughly enjoyable. If things settle down one day I might like to take you across it."

The carriage trudged father down the pathway and as we pull into the front gates of the estate I notice a small crowd, a mix of servants and nobles, huddled against the front.

"Here," he says with a smile, "you see that girl in the the yellow dress standing along the front entrance? I'd bet that's her."

I'm not quite sure how he knows who she is, but he's right.

It's Prim.

Without even waiting for the carriage to stop, I pop open the door and spring out, just barely landing on my feet before I dash across the yard to meet her.

" _Prim,"_ I breathe, awkwardly tucking a whisp of hair away from her face. She looks impossibly older. Her bright blonde hair seems duller than I remember, her fresh youthful appearances almost withered.

Almost hesitantly, she reaches out and hugs me. I hold her for longer than I should, I can't help it. Having Prim, my favorite and now only, family member, back in the safety of Peeta's household is comforting in a way I would have never imagined. Finally, there will be somebody who understands the ways of my country and most importantly, me. Prim wouldn't expect me to idly gossip with her, nor would she judge me if I wanted to.

We weren't home, but we were together. And that was all that mattered.

* * *

**Author's Note: So, what did you think? Sorry it was a day late, this chapter is 4,000 words long so it was a lot harder to write. I'm leaving for vacation (I will be going to MB for a week and then I am going to be away until August 22nd) I should have some down time though so it shouldn't impact my writing schedule.**

**I'm also about to hit 400 reviews, which is absolutely crazy! I would like to thank all of the wonderful people who read and enjoy this story:)**

**If you're looking for some good royal Peeta, check out _Made of Stars_ by sponsormusings. It's not historical, but it's good fun and based off of Aladdin to a certain degree. There is also Genie Haymitch, which is a good enough reason in itself!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I post spoilers, announcements, and inspirations on there. If you are following me on there, perhaps you know what 'big reveal' will be released in the next chapter.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, places, and names belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

The front room of what must be my apartments is gorgeous, and not in the overdone style of the Capitol. No, this place holds on to the simpler, yet still opulent style of days gone by. The walls are not covered in gilded moldings or shiny, extensively weaved tapestries. Instead panels done in subtle shades of blue and bronze tell tales of beasts and lords, well-made furniture that doesn't need to be painted gold in order to resonate, and breathtakingly detailed carvings make the rooms noteworthy. There are still hints of the heavy gilded Capitol style, but it is offset by heavy shades of navy and burgundy that make the rooms appear respectively regal rather than just a simple display of wealth.

I notice that Prim is flighty with me at first, almost hesitant to step out of line with me. Instead of being the sweet, carefree Primrose that I have always known she sits cautiously in her chair, barely taking sips of her tea as we share idle conversation.

Has my sister left me too?

"Have you enjoyed your time in Panem?" I ask her, resorting to simple questions.

My sister hesitates before answering, brushing a long strand of white blonde hair back into its place, "Yes," she says cautiously.

"Prim," I reassure her, "you don't have to hold your tongue. None of my people will hold your words against you."

"I don't wish to anger you," she responds, barely meeting my eyes.

"Prim," I say, frowning in confusion, "why on earth would I be angry with you? We are blood, when in our years together have you ever angered me? I'm your sister."

"But it isn't like that anymore!" she finally looks at me, "You're a queen, just like Mama, and it's different this time. You have a family now. One of your own, and a whole new country that makes Seam look childish. We have such little back home, and now you're a grown up, Katniss! Why would you want me when you have all of this?" her voice shakes as she settles into her seat.

"Oh Prim," I say, taking her into my arms, "you mean more to me than every single thing in this country. We're all we have, you and me."

Prim pulls away slightly and looks up at me, " _But you have Peeta_ , Katniss," she sighs, "I don't have a family of my own and I won't until I'm of age, then Gale will come for me."

I shiver slightly at the thought of  _my_ Gale with my little sister. It would happen eventually; even my father knew the match between them would be inevitable when he signed me off to Peeta. There was no other way to keep Everdeen blood in the royal line.

"Peeta isn't blood, Prim. It is hardly the same. I have known you for most of my life, and of course, you have known me for the entirety of yours. We share the same upbringing, the same home, and that can not be replaced in any way, shape, or form."

"But you love him?" she questions me, her eyes lighting up, "I wished I had what you had, boys never come to whisk me away."

I laugh internally at the way she makes what Peeta and I have romantic. Sure, Peeta had turned out to be more than one could ever wish, but our marriage could have been disastrous. A political marriage between two people who barely knew each other was far from ideal.

"Prim," I say, "don't long for such things, you are lucky to have a marriage prepared in your own court," I ought to chastise her a little more, as older sisters should on such important beliefs, but my stomach suddenly turns at the thoughts of doing anything more and it takes everything inside of me to make it to the bucket in the hall.

"I'm sorry," I say as I tiredly trudge back to Prim, "I get nauseous on occasion."

"Oh," says Prim with a wistful sigh, "I forgot you were pregnant."

I blanch at Prim, of all people, thinking me pregnant. The 'pregnancy' ordeal was odd enough for me at it was, but Prim, my little sister, thinking I was with child? It was almost embarrassing.

"Prim," I say, trying to explain the situation delicately, "I'm not pregnant-"

She laughs, interrupting me, "Oh Katniss, you don't have to lie to me. I know the way babies work, I was training with the medics, remember? Your oddness and nausea, of course you're pregnant! I'm not a child anymore, I know of the birds and the bees."

I think about it for a moment. My cycle had always been irregular, so I hadn't fussed over its absence in the passing months. And it wasn't  _technically_ impossible, I had been feeling rather sick lately and it wasn't like I remained a virgin.

So I don't answer her, I just brush her off and change the conversation.

* * *

Dinner is served at dusk, a lot earlier than it was in the Capitol. The formal dining room here was more casual too, with heavy arches that somewhat separated the large room into smaller sections. For once they allow us to sit with a large group while eating, instead of being separated and exalted like we usually are.

Around six Peeta arrives at my chambers prepared to lead me and my accompaniment to the dining hall. He's dressed in a rich green velvet suit with an overly ruffled shirt that seems hilariously out of date.

"They had to dig something out of the closets here," he says, giving me an explanation.

I blanch as I notice the large tail of the jacket, "Well, it's certainly something."

"What," he says with mock concern, "you don't like it?" Peeta does a '360', twirling around in a circle and quickly picking me up as he comes back around.

"Hey," I say, squealing a little as his gives me a far from chaste kiss in front of our entire accompaniment.

Peeta laughs with glee, "You can't imagine how much I love you," he says as the guards open the heavy wooden doors and he leads me into the dining hall.

When we enter the room I can't help but notice the tired, weary state of appearance amongst the higher class. Their dresses are worn and wrinkled from being packed under a rush, wigs are either entirely lacking or without their usual ornaments, even the gowns themselves seem duller and flatter in appearance. But it's not just their clothes that are wearied, all the rogue in the world can't cover up the blatant appearances of the dark circles and tired faces that most of the nobles are sporting.

Peeta and I are seated at a long mahogany table with a small group of higher nobles. Duke Finnick and Duchess Anne, Lady Glimmer and her husband Lord Marvel, Countess Johanna, and a few of the stuffier, older type are seated along with us. Even Madge, who is not held in high regard, is placed directly to my side.

"Your sister, Primrose, is here?" Duchess Anne asks as the first course, a series of frothy soups and hearty stews, boiled fish, and vegetables all arranged in a beautiful centerpiece, is served.

"Yes," I tell her.

"That's good, that she's safe." Anne unfolds her napkin and moves on to the plum gelatin that is sitting in front of her.

I nod, my heart clenching slightly at the thought of my father, who didn't make it out safely. My body flutters slightly as I imagine what they did to him, what they would do to Peeta and me if they had the chance.

I can't help but see images of his body, his head separated and gruesomely tortured. The thoughts pound away at me as my breathing becomes erratic. I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to avoid throwing up on the table.

"Is something wrong, Katniss?" Madge places a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.

Noticing something is wrong, Peeta stands up, causing the entire room of several hundred residents to take note, "I think we are going to turn in for the night, Katniss isn't feeling well," Peeta speaks to the table in an authoritative tone.

Wordlessly, my husband takes my hand and helps me out of my seat before guiding me towards the slate staircase and back into the main hallway. We don't speak while we walk, but I lean my head on his chest and manage to lay a few gentle kisses against his collar before we arrive at our destination.

Our bedchamber is breathtakingly simple. There is, of course, the usual ornate gold moldings and embellishments along the walls and ceilings, but the staff must not have had enough time to prep lavish bedcoverings or curtains because the room's fabric pieces are all a simple, clean white. I will have to request that they keep it this way.

Peeta smiles at me as he collapses against the bed, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I reply. When did I ever want to talk?

He smiles, lying his head back into the soft white pillow, "I'd love to kiss you right now."

A breeze rustles through the room, causing the sheers to splay against the wall.

I sigh back into the bed, "Nothing's stopping you."

Accepting the challenge, Peeta leans across the bed, placing a light, soft kiss against my lips before settling back into his position. I can't help but feel disappointed at the briefness of his encounter, in all honesty I had expected him to take me here, for we had a rare moment alone and there was no reason to waste it.

"Please," I say, rolling over and straddling his legs with mine so that he knows what I want from him.

"Please what," he says with a grin.

I slide my legs lower along his and press my hands against his chest, slowly pushing against the fabric of his ruffled, white shirt until it is released from the forest colored velvet of his breeches.

" _Come on_ ," I say, lowering my face so that it contours with his skin, "don't play games with me right now." I press a wet, soft kiss against his chest and gently slide my lip against him.

He frowns with concern, lifting my body away from his, "Are you sure, Katniss? If you aren't feeling well, if whatever happened earlier is still bothering you, we don't have to do anything."

"No, I want to." I stand definitive in my answer as I slip my fingers under his shirt once again and pull the fabric over his head. He moves in sync with my actions, arching his back so that the shirt slides effortlessly over his body.

It takes some time and mutual effort for him to remove my hooped underskirt and light green silk stays, but it isn't long before even my blue and yellow embroidered overgown finds a home on the floor of the bedroom.

Our movements are quick, Peeta doesn't wait to remove his breeches and position himself under the covers. We don't even bother with foreplay or actions that would help us ease into the act, and he finishes quicker than he normally would, but we have both been deprived of this for so long and it's more than relieving to be with him again.

* * *

The next morning, after pulling myself from Peeta's sleeping arms, the first thing I do is is instruct my guards to arrange for a visit with Doctor Aurelius, the court physician under the guise of a migraine.

Doctor Aurelius is not an oblivious man. He was well aware, as both my physician and a member of the court, that there was never a confirmation of pregnancy, so when I approach the topic he doesn't even bat an eye.

"Well," he says, cleaning his glasses, "it's perfectly plausible from the situation you have describes, but I can neither affirm nor deny your suspicions at this point under the laws of learned medicine. That being said, if you are of more superstitious beliefs there are women healers I can suggest you see, under an unofficial recommendation, of course. I must say to you that I imagine with nothing more than an opinion that the answer to your question will be shown positive in a handful of months."

I nod, the terrifying thoughts sinking in. A baby, a real living human being could be inside of me at the moment. At that thought I could only feel trapped in my own skin. Even my gown felt like it was closing in on me as the realization swept over my body.

"My mother was involved with healers, I know their ways. If you could make an arrangement for me I would appreciate that," I say numbly, swiftly rising and allowing my guard to open the door.

I was pregnant.

* * *

After my visit with the physician I am brought back to my private quarters where I manage to spend a few hours making a dent in the dusty library that lied within. Most of the books were pious religious tales, reading 'suited for a woman', but I was desperate for some type of distraction from the situation on hand.

Around noon, however, an abnormally well-dressed page, a little blonde boy I recognize as Peeta's personal favorite, comes with a request from Peeta asking me to meet him in the south quarter of the back gardens.

The back gardens are a beautiful display of bright greens and amber leaves, but it still doesn't compare to the extensive grandeur of the Capitol.

Peeta is waiting for me when we arrive in the south quarter, which is slightly less well-kept and riddled with seemingly older stone paths that lead into the wooded area behind the palace.

"You left me this morning," Peeta says as he shoos the guards, wordlessly instructing them to keep at a more distant pace.

"I felt like getting up before you for once. You know, you always wake before me," I lie.

He laughs and pulls me in for a chaste kiss, "Well last night was just enough to tire me out."

I blush slightly at his comment. Even though we had been together time and time again I never quite got over him speaking so casually about what we did in our bed. "Where are we going anyways?"

"I was hoping to bring you to the beach. There is a small strip of sand not a few miles out from here and I was hoping that you might enjoy it." Peeta lets go of my hand and slides his arm around the curve of my waist, "We never really got the chance at Taraxa."

It's a good thirty minute walk before we arrive at the water. Peeta was right, this side of the ocean is a lot different than the crystal water and pure white sand we visited on our honeymoon. It's still breathtaking, of course, but the water is a translucent green and the sand is rougher than I remembered.

Blankets are laid out a few feet away from the waterline. Servants must have come here earlier and set it up, because a hearty lunch of turkey sandwiches and potato soup welcomes us as we arrive.

"Thank you," I say as Peeta helps me sit down, his hands smoothing the light blue fabric of the sack back gown I'm wearing.

Peeta only gives me a grin in response before handing me one of the delicately wrapped sandwiches.

"We could come here every afternoon, you know? It would be nice to see you during the day," he places his hand against my leg, warmth spreading through my body at his touch.

I give him a look. He was living in a fantasy world, we had just fled our supposedly permanent residence and the entire country was quickly lighting up in a fiery mess of rebellion and barbaric influences. He would never get the time to do meet with me in the middle of the day. I knew how many hours he spent in counsel under normal circumstances. With what was going on now I would be happy if he was coming to bed by midnight.

"You know that will never happen," I scoff at him.

He sighs, "You're right, probably not, but we could always try. I tire of being apart from you; perhaps we could request time on Sundays for vigil and sneak away?"

Laughing, I move closer to him, "You're not a very good influence, my King," I say, giving a mocking bow.

"I beg to differ. I think it's you who's not a very good influence on me," he says with false outrage.

"Here," he says, throwing his sandwich wrapper into the basket and grabbing my hand, "let me show you something."

Peeta pulls my body upwards and we make it about fifty yards with me lazily propped up against his shoulder. There's a little bank that forms as the strip of beach seems to come to a point. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures, one of which Peeta and I find shelter under.

"Finally," he says with a hint of annoyance as he lays down against the rocks, "we can have some privacy."

"Mmm," I nod, pulling my own body next to his, propping my head up against my arms. The world was quiet around us, the guards were keeping their distance and for once it felt like we were truly separated from everything. The guards, the crown, in that instance it felt like none of it mattered. But it didn't last for long, because I was still most likely pregnant, and all the avoidance in the world couldn't change that.

"I saw the physician this morning, "I tell him, anxiously drawing circles along his back.

At my words Peeta's eyes widen, "You're sick?" he says, "I told you there was a fever going around, we should have taken up separate quarters."

"I'm not that kind of sick, Peeta," I let my words sink in.

"Oh," he says, faltering.

"I'm- or at least, I might be. There's no point in making such statements when I'm not entirely certain-"I pause, sighing into the sand, "I'm pregnant, Peeta."

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay there;) My vacation plans took up more of my time than I expected! How did you like the reveal?**

**As always, thanks to prisspanem for being a wonderful beta!**

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, names, and places belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Tell me you are not playing with my emotions," Peeta says, shellshocked.

Instinctively I curl backwards, prepared for his reaction, "No," I breathe, "I'm not- but it's not concrete," I reach out for him, placing my hands on his, "nobody can tell definitively."

"No-" he says, relaxing his position and sighing against the cool surface, "I figured that much. I suppose it makes sense with everything that's happened. Oh Katniss," he says, pulling me closer, "A baby, Katniss, a living child. We're going to have  _one of our own_  now."

I lie back against him, surprised by his casual reaction. A baby was less than ideal at the moment, it was really the last thing that either of us needed right now. The idea of my pregnancy made for a perfectly good story to feed to the people, but actually producing an heir made us both vulnerable in a way that was hardly suited for the current political situation.

"Do you not care?" I ask him, "What this will do to us, to me? We will never be the same again, doesn't it bother you?"

He looks at me in confusion, "Having a child is always a blessing, Katniss. Can you really be so cruel?" he stares at me for a moment before turning away, "We may have a new human being soon, a little baby that is a perfect mix of the two of us. Can anything about that really be so horrible?"

When he speaks to me his voice is so soft and lofty. I can almost hear the sweet aspirations he has for the rosy cheeked, blonde haired child that resides in his brain. This baby would be his heir, his legacy, something to look forward to when he came home from battle. But from my perspective, this child would only bring me grief if it was born. Pain in childbirth. Another person who it will be my responsibility to protect. Pain, pain, and more pain.

If the child was male, I would be forced to worry about those who would wish to usurp him. If the child was female, I would have to shroud her from the disappointment and resentment people would hold against her due to her gender, then I would eventually have to relive my own horrors in watching her be ripped from my arms and sent away to marry a foreigner, who would most likely be both callous and older, for the sake of diplomatic relations. Either way, the child would be nothing more than a pawn, and I what exactly could I do to protect it when I was just another piece in the game?

* * *

Women healers were far from an oddity in Seam. In a country where most could not afford doctors, healers were the only thing we had. My own mother had practiced in the ways of a healer. When she had been a woman of Panem, her blood family had dealt in the trade of apothecary medications, and she had learned their ways alongside the women in her family's estate. Even during her time in Seam she had called upon the peasant women and worked with them, teaching newer, safer methods and even bringing Prim, small, tiny, Prim, along with her. I, of course, was never included.

So I was comfortable when Ruba, the older, plump woman who the physician directed me to, examined my bare belly and declared with certainty that, "the baby will be male."

She was lying, of course. They almost always say the child will be a boy in order to please the mother. I had seen the trick a dozen times and even the Doctor could hardly say if I was certainly pregnant, but I take the package of herbs she prescribes me anyways and allow my guards to direct me back into the carriage as they settle her fee.

Peeta would be happy with the news. Even the lofty, unsubstantiated promise of a boy would bring any King to tears. But I decide against telling him of Ruba's predictions. I wasn't going to make my child, if it may be a girl, any more of a disappointment.

* * *

About half way through the carriage ride home from Ruba's shop, I notice that we are most certainly not going in our intended direction. There was a very distinguishable change in our surroundings. Instead of heading back towards the woods, we were moving farther east. Most passengers wouldn't have cared to notice it, but my father had trained me to always be alert of my surroundings and with recent events I had to be more careful than ever. At first, I panic. The plush gold lining of my personal carriage is almost suffocating as I think of the possibilities. The driver could be bringing me anywhere. For all I knew he was waiting to bring my head to the barbarians. My initial reaction is flight, I could easily slip the door open and run, but what then?

I had a good knowledge of the woods, but with the accompaniment of guards, who must be compliant in whatever this was, they would surely catch me and then, if I was wrong in my assumption, then what would they do to me?

So instead I remain in my seat and tighten my grip on the spare knife I keep stowed away in my pockets.

* * *

In a pleasant turn of events in an otherwise disastrous world, my anguish is for naught. When the guards finally open the doors and allow me to step out, there is that same familiar blonde head waiting for me in the little patch of woods where we stop.

At the sight of him, a rush of reliefs flows over my body. Whatever it may be between us, where there was Peeta, I was safe.

He's just standing there, hands in his pockets with a loopy, silly grin on his face when I step out. His clothes are rougher than the pieces he normally wears. A plain brown jacket and matching breeches. A loose white shirt. A sword hanging low over his waist. He's pleasantly rugged and I can't help but feel attracted to him when he's like this. He felt more real when he wasn't dolled up. Like a man instead of a King. What I would give right now to trade these woods for tangled limbs and messy sheets.

"What's all this?" I yell out to him, throwing my arms up and looking around. It's nothing special, just a little path of woods. Ordinary woods from what I can tell.

"An oasis," he replies, swiftly greeting me with a hug and motioning for the men to disperse, "Here," he says, pressing something small into my hand, "I bought you a gift."

Immediately I can sense the delicate chain in my palm. It's a ruby necklace, beautifully sculpted in a simple gold setting. The ruby itself is massive, a large oval gem encased in a pendant of the same gold, with small diamond flowers decorating the edges. If I was the type of girl who fussed over jewlery, I would call it breathtakingly beautiful. I had never seen anything quite like it amongst the royal gems of Panem.

"They found it in the far east around the time of our engagement. It's very rare to acquire a ruby of that size, you know? I intended to present it to you as a wedding gift, but my jewelers took longer than I expected. You like it, don't you?" he looks up at me, hopeful.

I swing my arms around him and squeeze him as tightly as possible, "I love it," I press my head against his neck, "thank you."

I release my grip from him and swing my arms around his waist, leaning against his body as we walk further into the wooded area.

The leaves crunch with the indistinguishable sounds of the beginning of fall as we walk through the woods. It's pleasant to do something simple with him. To have his hand in mine as we journeyed under the canopy of branches. I feel the ever present urge to just reach up and kiss him, to pounce on him and fulfil the desperately unexplainable urge I feel towards him, but I managed to contain myself in order to preserve the moment.

"I enjoy being with you," I tell him, disrupting our silence. There is a small stream to our left and in the distance I can see a deer drinking at its waters.

"I should hope so," Peeta nervously runs a hand through his hair, "you are carrying my child, after all."

I frown a little. Why did he have to bring up the baby at a time like this? It was an unsettling notion. Besides, acknowledging the baby did nothing more than make my skin crawl with thoughts of pregnancy.

"It's true-" I say, wrapping my hands around his arm, "you're not old, or ugly, or particularly mean. I could have done a lot worse, you know?"

Peeta pulls us over to an upturned log and sits me down, "I'm not quite sure if that is a compliment or not."

"It is, you're a good husband. Better than most- you have never harmed me."

He pulls my body closer to his, "And I never will."

His hands move around my waist and I lay circled in his warm embrace. It's an intimate moment, we're truly alone for once, and all that matters right now is the feeling of his skin against mine. Even now, I can forget about everything. Forget about the barbarians or my father. Forget than I'm a Queen. It's intoxicatingly simple.

"You should kiss me," I say.

"I should kiss you?" Peeta says, an edge in his voice as he pulls my body around so that I am no longer sitting in his lap, but rather facing him. He doesn't wait long to succeed to my command, his mouth warm and soft as he teases me, insistently parting my lips.

"I brought you here so I may sketch you," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders as he pulls away, "but now I think it's best we make it back to our beds as soon as possible."

He pulls me another kiss, his hands settling over my breasts as he explores the inside of my mouth with urgency.

* * *

The carriage ride back to the palace is tense. Peeta and I sit on the same cushioned seat, our hands intertwined but our bodies a safe distance from each other. Even the lapse of his breaths is enough to drive my body towards his.

We waste no time getting back to our rooms. Peeta and I don't even bother waiting for the guards to open the doors before we rush, almost run, towards the south end entrance. His face is gleeful, messy sandy hair and bright blue eyes radiating as he almost leaps through the hallways, dragging me with him to the obstinate door that marks our bedroom.

There is barely a second after the door is shut before he pushes my body against the wall, his hands desperate and needy as he unhooks the backings of my over gown just enough to cause the gown to drape low on my shoulders. It's exhilarating, being with him, everything around me seems to brighten as my palms glide over his chest, not caring much about preserving his clothes as I push his pop the buttons off of his shirt.

It's not long before the floor is covered with the various pieces of our assembled dress. My over gown is first to go, then my petticoats and his undershift.

Soon the only thing left on my body is the ruby pendant hanging across my neck.

It's not long before he is inside of me, our bodies strung across the bed, not even entirely lying on it. It's hasty and delirious, perhaps the most incredible experience of my life- but then something happens that destroys our entire evening together. Just as we are coming close to completion, the tell tale screech of the door radiates through the room and one of Peeta's guards burst through.

At the realization that there is a third party in the room I lose not only lost my train of thought, but every semblance coordination. My face flushes as Peeta comes to a stop and hastily pulls away from my body.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the red-headed guard says, averting his gaze, "but the King is needed immediately in the throne room."

* * *

I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in my bed. I can't bring myself to sleep, all I can think of is what could be so horrible that Peeta would be called so abruptly to the throne. So instead I am forced to focus on the suffocating feeling the white, sweaty sheets form around me, the way my heart clenches as I think of the danger we may be in. How my home may be stormed once again, if it was Gale who would end up beheaded in a field this time…

But eventually, well into the dark of the night, somebody joins in the bed. At first, I barely notice his presence in the room. I'm distraught and tired, curled up in the sheets at the opposite end of the sheets, so its not until he settles into the other end of the bed that I recognize the indent of my husband.

"Peeta," I call out to him, my voice low as I roll towards him. He's laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Go to sleep, Katniss," his voice has a weary, almost harsh quality to it.

"What happened?" I question, pushing my body on top of his and tracing my fingers against his chest, "can I tend to you?"

"Katniss," he says impatiently pushing me off him, "just go to sleep, we can deal with this in the morning."

* * *

When I wake the next morning it is already mid afternoon. The late night I had spent awake had caused me, but apparently not Peeta, who is already long gone, to sleep in.

So after I am woken and dressed, I decide to take a solitary stroll in the gardens. It's a nice enough way to spend the rest of the afternoon, and besides, I knew that I was not going to be informed of whatever was going on until it was either made public or I was invited into the council.

It's to my utter surprise when my walk is interrupted, allowing for that very news to come earlier than expected.

"Your Majesty, a message has come for you," a white gloved footman dressed in Panem's signature red and gold livery extends an intricate silver platter, with nothing more than a creamy white letter on top of it, towards me.

The first thing I notice about the letter is that it is addressed not to the Queen of Panem, but rather the Archduchess of Seam. It's a subtle dig, the type that could only come from one person.

Gale.

I worry for a moment about the intent of the letter. After all this time, Gale has never written. He was never the type, of course, but I was sure it was partly due to the resentment over Peeta. For a moment a wave of panic hits me as I wonder if it was something tragic that had brought him to his pen. And then it notice it. There is something wrong with the seal that lines the back of the letter. It's broken. Carefully pieced back together in order to appear intact, but still broken.

My face flushes with anger at the knowledge. They have rifled through my letters, taken every semblance of privacy from me and torn it to shreds.

I don't even bother to read the letter, I'm too angry at the moment. "Guard!" I screech at the top of my lungs.

One of the younger men rushes to my aid, "Your Highness," he says to me, avoiding my gaze, "are you in need of assistance."

"Alert the King that I am in need of his immediate presence."

* * *

Peeta is sitting at an overbearing mahogany desk when I burst into his private office. It's a fairly large room with crisp white walls and gilded moldings. Although relatively simple in design there are more books in here than even the library in my quarters.

"Why exactly have you called on me?" Peeta sighs and takes a sip of wine from the goblet sitting on his desk, "I do not appreciate being pulled from meetings, if you must know," he looks up from the papers he is reading and gives me a cold, questioning glance. He's angry with me, and for a reason I can't quite understand. Over the past few days he has been nothing but overjoyed thanks to my state.

"You've been searching through my mail," I state plainly, pulling the letter from my bosom and smacking it against his desk.

Peeta looks at me, seemingly unfazed, "Of course I am."

I am befuddled by his admittance, "You don't deny it, then?" I ask, wrinkling my forehead.

Peeta gives a callous laugh, his tone finally shifting from the removed voice he has been speaking in, "Oh Katniss, don't be naive with me. I am a King, I can certainly not allow for my wife to be in direct and unsupervised contact with a man who is not only her former fiance, but a traitor to the crown. I cannot have my wife betray me too."

My head spins in confusion at his words.  _A traitor?_ What on earth did he mean? I had never heard Peeta speak to me, or anybody else for that matter, in this way.

"Peeta," I say, collapsing onto my knees and resting against his desk, "what do you mean?"

"I think," he pauses, his voice almost cracking before he pulls into the same steely resolve, "sometimes you forget that I am a King, your King for that matter, and that my duties are first to my crown. I do not have the ability to give sympathies and I hope that is something you will come to understand. You are lucky that my affections for you are strong," Peeta finished off his drink, "read the letter, Katniss," he says, tossing the paper back to me.

My mind numb with confusion I pop open the envelope and pull out the letter. It's a rather thick piece of paper, a bit odd for this type of letter, and there's a little gold stamp on the upper right hand corner with the Everdeen insignia on it.

_Dear Katniss,_

_You know I am not particularly fond of writing letters, but I felt that you deserved this one. There will be news in the passing weeks that will come as a shock to you. You will surely anger with me. If I was there with you, I am certain you would slap me and call me a fool. But that is besides the point, for you must remember that whatever happens between us politically, we are still bound by the same blood. You are mine, I am yours. We are forever bounded by the ties of family and I beg you to remember this as difficult as things may become for you._

_\- Gale_

" _You are mine_ ," Peeta says mockingly as I look up from the letter, "you have to love that line. He's a hopeless chap," he spews bitterly.

The words weren't Gale's, exactly. The handwriting was his, sure, but it was written too formally. In the letters I had received from him during his travels he never cared to write in a good tongue and there were always drawings and knick knacks attached. This was a letter that Gale had expected for others to read. He knew they would be watching him, but why?

"What is going on, Peeta," my voice teeters as I demand a response from him.

"Your little  _lover_ declared war on Panem a fortnight ago. News finally reached me last night."

 _War?_ It made no sense, what reason did Gale, who was my cousin, who benefited from Panem, have to declare a war he could never win on the greatest country in the region.

"You are pulling one on me, surely?" I say, my eyes stinging as a void brushes over me.

"Unfortunately," Peeta chuckles, "I am not. He's been planning this for weeks," Peeta shoves the papers next to him across the table in the a display of anger. "Oh Katniss, he took me for a fool! The visit to Panem, it was a fraud. The bastard used it as a way to infiltrate us, all while I was sweetening him up in an attempt to impress your family," Peeta stands up with a bang, "You know that, Katniss? I wanted to  _impress_ him. I wanted to make your people happy with me, I wanted to be part of your family. And now what? Your blood is out for mine."

"Peeta," I say, backing away from him as I clamp my hand around my mouth in an attempt to stifle my tears, "I can't- I don't."

"Don't bother," he says, the disgust apparent in his voice. And I can't help it anymore, I just collapse against the wall and fall into oblivion.

* * *

**Author's Note:** **Well, what did you think? What do you think Gale is trying to accomplish by declaring war? I was actually able to get this chapter out in only a week AND this is a fairly long chapter- which I'm sure is nice, as I'm usually late uploading chapters.**

**How do you feel about Katniss and Peeta's dynamic? I would love to know what y'all think!**

**As always, I would like to thank my beta, prisspanem.**

* * *

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I post spoilers, inspirations, alerts, etc. about my fanfiction, so if you are interested feel free to check that out.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, or names in the Hunger Games trilogy. All rights go to their respective owners.**

* * *

When I awake I am lying in a bed. It's not the one I share with Peeta, it's a lot smaller and the room is far more clinical, that's really the only way to harsh white on white room.

"You're awake," the source of the voice caresses my cheek and at his touch I know it is Peeta.

"Leave me," I say, turning away from him.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss. I brought my frustrations out on you. I swear to you, it will never happen again," Peeta runs his hand through his mess of blonde curls, "I love you," he says, the desperation in his voice apparent.

"If you love me you will leave," I tell him, turning my head away, "I'm tired and carrying your child, you owe me that respect."

He turns to leave but I stop him, "Don't," I say, reaching out for him with my hand, "I'm tired of constantly arguing with you and I don't have the strength to fight two battles at once. Come," I pat down the surface next to me, "sit. I want information."

He complies, gently pressing into the mattress and I turn to face him, "So that's that, my brethren are fighting my wedded."

He nods, "Your people have aligned themselves with the lot of barbarians and misfits. You know, some  _will_ wonder where you are positioned in this equation," he hesitates.

I think back to the girl in the inn, how she expected me to be a revolutionary. Where _did_  I stand, exactly? I was never really given the chance to form opinions; my entire life the people around me had formed them on my behalf. At the very least I had chosen my allies through my bonds, but now I had ties on both sides- for me, this was a civil war that I had no interest in fighting. Naturally, I felt for both the people of Panem and my own country; hadn't I myself lamented the oppression put upon us? But Peeta was a good king. Better than any barbarian who would rise from the ashes of the anguish that would certainly befall us if this ever became something.

Now what would come of this 'war'? Tears, anguish, dead in the streets. Regardless of who won the outcome was poor for me. If Peeta succeeded, my homeland would be in ruins and for the rest of my life there would always be that little inkling in the back of everybody's mind that I was nothing more than the child of a traitorous nation. My people, Gale, none of them would fare well in the end. However, if by some act of God, the rebelling forces were able to accomplish something it would be Peeta who would surely lose his head. And what would be left for me? I would be exiled to a summer estate, or more likely, sent back to Seam to live my life as if our little marriage had never happened. I would once again be the simple noble of an insignificant nation, or perhaps, if the people were fond of me I might resume position as reigning monarch at Gale's right hand. I would live- it would be my child who would suffer the consequences. If it was a girl, she would be tolerated in the court of any nation. A boy's fate, however, would be entirely uncertain.

No matter what happened, somebody would end up dead- and I would be the one watching somebody I care for slaughter somebody I loved.

"Does it matter where I stand?" I say to him, carefully dancing around the topic, "I was under the impression that my opinion never mattered, as these same gossipers denounced me as nothing more than an insignificant child from a country that never crossed their mind?" I frown slightly as I attempt to dodge his question.

"It doesn't matter what they think, Katniss, not entirely. However, we all must make a choice at some point in our lives," he removes a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the letter that Gale sent to me, "Don't get me wrong here, I will  _love_  you and protect you regardless of where you align yourself, but you must remember something, Katniss. That baby, our child, will be the heir to this country. Panem will be its rightful land and you ought to understand that a mother must keep mind of that."

The letter falls against the bed and I snatch it up, a bit too quickly, tucking it under my dress. I don't answer his question. I can't. I don't even know the answer myself, so I simply glare at him and leave our conversation hanging, letting him know that I have no interest in the word games he's playing.

"Fine," he says, the bed squeaks as he pulls himself up from the bed, "I  _love you,_ I'm sorry- I'm true in that respect." He starts towards the door, "And Katniss, I want to see you in council room this evening. No excuses." And just like that he gives me a tip of his hat before swiftly exiting the room."

* * *

After Peeta leaves they move me from the tiny medic room to the quarters I have taken up at this estate. I'm still a little weak from my episode, so I'm allowed to remove my corsets and spend the rest of the day propped up on the sofas in my nightdress.

They serve me a meal a couple hours later. The stew is lukewarm and the bread is cold, it's a long walk from the kitchen to my rooms, but I'm still delighted to share a meal in my own company. It's almost like home, And so I'm relaxed for a moment, that is- until I get a visitor.

Countess Johanna strolls into my parlor room with nothing more than a wave at the guards. Her deep red gown crinkles as she slides down next to me, propping her feet up on the table and stealing a pastry from my dish. Johanna was odd in that way. She didn't care for customs or acting 'like a lady ought to', yet her necklines were low and she could most certainly hold her own in court. And oh, she could play innocent when she wanted to. Had a marvelous knack for it when Effie was around. I still hadn't figured her out, but then again, I was never good at reading people.

"So,  _Princess,_ " Johanna takes a bite of  _my_ pastry, "Heard you had a little spell earlier."

"And you just took it upon yourself to visit me?" I eye her suspiciously.

"Well, I most certainly could not let my poor Queen bear her illness alone," she brings her hand to her chest and crones on in a mockingly sweet fashion.

"Don't worry," I tell her, "I'll do fine on my own."

"I'm sure you will," she says, breaking from her sarcastic dialect for only a moment, "I… heard about the situation," she hesitates, "it must be rough. Everybody's talking- but, you're still attending council, right?"

"Of course."

"They aren't fond of the idea. Your sex can be overlooked, but there are  _accusations_ -," Johanna drops closer to my ear, "I would keep a watch on my back if I were you."

We pause our conversation for a moment as one of the serving girls brings in a tea tray. It's almost funny how we both know to keep our mouths shut, nobody could be trusted these days.

"Nobody is stupid enough to name me traitor while I am still in my husband's favor. I'm going," I say, "nobody can stop me."

"Good," she says, a glint of admiration in her voice as she throws me a smirk, "you'll have to keep me informed."

I stir a few sugar cubes into my tea, giving a light sip before broaching a question, "Doesn't your husband tell you of such things. I know he's on the council."

"Blight?" She almost laughs, "Oh, he barely pays attention to the meetings themselves. I certainly can't count on him for information and besides, most of my lovers are of the belief that those aren't 'female matters'. Us women have to stick together if we want to have any semblance of what is going on."

" _Lovers?_ " I whisper, the word pours carefully into the air. An affair was enough to have you beheaded in some parts. Could she be so open about it?

"Don't be coy," the Countess "Blight's a good boy- decent husband, but I'm not you. He doesn't care much if I keep my men."

I wonder what that would be like. To have that much freedom  _as a woman_. To keep your husband yet sleep with whoever you pleased. "It's different for me," I say, "Peeta cares for me."

She winks, "Yes, but is he  _still_ good in bed?"

"Still?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugs like it doesn't matter, "We've had our fun."

I'm not sure how I feel about it.  _Johanna_ and my husband, together in bed?  _Being so close to a woman who had touched him and felt him, a woman who had pleasured him and fit herself against the same skin that I felt each night_. I hated Lady Glimmer, it was justifiable, but Johanna was tolerable- maybe even a friend, and the thought of Peeta's mouth on  _her_ body?

"He's good." I confirm, "Not that I have much to compare it to."

She gives me a dismissive wave, "You'd know if he was bad, I assure you. There's a _thing_ he does, with his mouth…" she sighs as if giving it a moment of thought, "You should definitely let him give it a try- ask him sometime, tell him you want to test things out."

I squirm a little in my seat. Despite my lack of virginity I still wasn't quite comfortable with Johanna giving me sexual advice based on her past experiences with  _my_ husband. "I don't think that will happen anytime soon," I wrinkle my nose, "We aren't exactly on the best of terms. Considering."

"I don't know what I'd do if I was you," she speaks abruptly, "I don't have many people left, but I would still choose them over my husband, if I had the choice."

"I don't really get to make a choice." I snap at her, feeling suddenly defensive, "Even if I did, what would it matter? I don't care for revolution or war, I just want my people safe- regardless of the means."

"But if you had to make a decision," she presses, "you can be honest with me, would you choose those who share your blood or he who shares your bed?"

"Look around," I say, my eyes flitting from the gilded walls to the clean silk fabric that draped over my stomach, "Is it ever smart to betray such power?"

"Well then," Johanna eyes flit to the ruby that burns against my skin, "Perhaps you should get dressed, wouldn't want to miss your  _keeper?"_

* * *

My second visitor arrives not long after the girls dress me. I decide on a very simple gown, a green striped thing. It's silk, of course, and commands a certain elegance- but there are no frills, no lacy sleeves or bowed fronts. It's perhaps the plainest sack back I own, but it's perfect.

"Hello, Katniss." My husband is wearing a dark brown silk jacket and waistcoat paired with navy breeches. His eyes burn hair is a little out of place

"I hope you will keep your peace today," he says, "Unfortunately, I'm afraid we are both stuck here and at this point, you're in desperate need of the Court's support."

"I'm not," I say, "I could run." I eye him, my back stiffening as he observes me. I doubt I looked very threatening as I traipsed over a canape.

"Yes," he contemplates the thought for a moment, "you could, but how far would you make it?"

"You'd be surprised."

"I doubt it, I know what your capabilities are- and I imagine you could most certainly flee if you were on your own," he says to me, voicing my very own concerns. Prim was my weakness, I couldn't desert her nor would either of us last long if I was forced to drag her across the country. He eyes with a glint, slightly sneering as he continues, "I believe we are both aware you would do  _quite a few things_  if there was nobody you loved at disposal."

I narrow at him. "Don't do that," I say, my voice softer than normal. At this point, I'm so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of my life being constantly upheaved. "Don't look at me as if I am guilty of anything."

* * *

Every eye in the room goes to look at me as I enter the council cabinet. I had been to a few meetings before, but I merely seated myself in the background and observed as the group of a hundred or so men argued over trade agreements and penalties on taxes.

But I'm a Queen. I can't sit in the background for long, not if I was going to spend my reign as anything more than a wife. So I take the seat to Peeta's right at the desk in the center of the room, barely giving anything more than a gesture to the official that usually takes that place.

The crowd is significantly smaller today. It's odd, really. The council discussions were usually held with a group of men in view but today is strictly limited to Peeta's closest advisors. I'm glad, when I look around, that I kept my dress to a plain simple overfrock. Most of the men are dressed as if they had only heard there was meeting ten minutes ago, their waistcoats and jackets askew. If I had showed up in fine dress and hat, knowing I had been in bed rest a handful of hours ago- surely they would have mocked me?

As the meeting is called to order, Peeta rises from his desk and addresses the group of men, "I assume you are all aware of why we have been called here today. I know we discussed it on lighter terms last evening."

The group of men shuffle in their seats, nodding amongst themselves. "Yes, we're very aware," Duke Finnick takes a rise from his seat, "kinda hard not to be."

"And I trust you have all been  _discreet,"_  Peeta says, "Here, does anybody have the files I found this morning? I believe that Katniss should be informed before we proceed any further." He directs me casually,  _Katniss._ Not even  _my wife_ or  _your Queen,_ just Katniss.

There's some shuffling in the room as the council members gather the strewn papers they hold in their hands and pass them forward to where Peeta and I sit.

"What is it about?" I ask, scanning the papers that one of the older council members hands over to me, "I don't see anything strange."

I can't help be on my guard, I can tell from the way they glance at me, the way their quiet murmurs of my insolence echo against the gilded walls- everybody has me pin-marked for whatever act has been committed.

"They are meant to be codes in plain disguise. Regular merchant logs to the common eyes, but in reality they hold things of great value. Financial information, soldier numbers, supplies and trades. The whole likes, all imbedded in the logs. One of my men discovered it when he captured a merchant doing trade with the barbarians."

"I don't quite understand." I say, raising my voice to the group, "They are trading information, alright, but how does this pertain to me?" I'm far from comfortable at the way the people in this room seem to eye me.

A rotund, balding man from the far corner speaks up, "It's revolutionary business, miss. They call themselves  _The Mockingjays_. After that silly bird, lord knows one of them must have a knack for figurative poetry."

Mockingjays, they're funny birds and something of a slap in the face to Panem. During the Dark Days, the finest breeders in the Capitol had worked on differing animals, mixing dog breeds or birds and training them for various tasks. Whether they be for used for looks or to sniff out rebels, it was universally agreed in Seam that they were wholly unnatural. The common term for them was muttations, or sometimes mutts for short. One was a special bird called a jabberjay that had the ability to pick up on signals in ways that most birds would not. They were homing birds, a smarter, more attractive take on a carrier pigeon, After the birds gathered tunes, a special code system learned by Panem's army, they'd fly back to centers and in their own special language, alert the generals of how many were soldiers were here and what coordinates they planned on advancing to. It was useful at first, their songs seemed like nothing more than silly tunes to most. It took people a while to realize what was going on in. Then, of course, the rebels figured out the system, fed the Capitol endless lies with nothing more than a tune, and the joke was on. Eventually, Panemian forces realized they were being played and left the birds to die off in the wilderness.

Only they didn't die off. Instead, the jabberjays mated with female mockingbirds creating a whole new species. They had lost the ability to truly hold on for melodies, but their voices were still sweet and they shone brightly despite the fact that Panem still reigned.

My father was particularly fond of mockingjays. When we went hunting, he would whistle or sing a tune and, after a polite pause, they'd always sing back. Not everyone is treated with such respect. But whenever my father sang, all the birds in the area would fall silent and listen. His voice was that beautiful, high and clear and so filled with life it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. I could never bring myself to continue the practice after he was gone. Still, there's something comforting about the little bird. It's like having a piece of my father with me, protecting me.

"That's beside the point, Jeffrey," says the gruffy, unmistakable voice of Lord Albernathy, "The truth is,  _sweetheart,_ they have information that could only come from the inside. Information that isn't acquired by stable boys or servants, the type of information that is only released among the elite. Some of that very information rarely leaves the walls of this room, and yet it is enclosed in documents traded among traitorous merchants? How do you explain that?"

And that's when it clicks, Johanna's comment- everything that has unfolded over the past weeks. I knew what she was doing,

There was a traitor.  _Traitors_ , even. And I knew exactly where I could find one.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm afraid this was a bit of a filler chapter and yes, Katniss and Peeta were at odds for most of it- but I promise there will be some good scenes up ahead. I'm looking forward to writing in a few scenes where everlark establishes more of a** **_friendship,_ ** **which I'm hoping you guys will be looking forward to. Send me a review, let me know what you think!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, places, and characters go to their respective owners. This chapter is currently un-betaed so don't kill me!**

* * *

It doesn't take long to find Johanna's apartments. They are not too far off from my own, and nearly equally lavish. Johanna was different from the other ladies, that much was true, but she still had a flair for the extravagant.

"Why?" I say, when I burst through to her library unannounced.

It only takes that one word for her to realize that I know. Her mouth curls upward as she speaks, "Wow, Princess, honestly we all expected for you to figure it out sooner rather than later."

"We?"

"Yes, we. Surely you didn't think I was running this as a solitary mission?" Johanna gives a cold laugh, "Princess, I really need you to keep up."

"Guards!" I call out, and for the faintest moment I almost think Johanna floods with panic, "leave us!"

They comply immediately, shuffling out of the room, seemingly unsuspicious. I imagine they believe we are discussing the latest fashions or gossip, something innocent. But either way I move closer to Johanna, just in case. The matters which we were to discuss could not be overheard.

"What do you do," I ask, my eyes flitting around the room- impatient for an answer.

"Thursday," she hesitates, "six o'clock, I'll fetch you. You can meet all of us."

"And the logs," I say, ignoring her proposition, "how did you gain access?"

Johanna opens and closes her mouth, as if she means to say something, "-the logs? You don't know," she rolls her eyes, "It isn't my job to be the one that explains that to you."

"Why are you admitting this to me?" I question, attempting to size her up, "I could tell my husband. He would have your head."

"Because I know you want the same things I do," she nods at me.

"Alright," I say to her, extending my hand with a sign of solidarity, "we'll talk."

I had just conspired myself as a traitor against the crown.

* * *

That night, sleep does not come quickly. My thoughts are consumed with the burdens I am carrying. Gale's declaration of war, the child that resides in me, Johanna's betrayal- my own. I toss in the bed well through the night, my kicks against the sheets waking even Peeta, who inquires if I am ill.

I don't tell him why I worry- I can't, so I explain my restlessness as a result of the pregnancy, an excuse that he accepts before lulling me into sleep.

It is the next morning, when I am greeted by the cheery painted face of none other than Duchess Effie, that I discover what my plans for the day are.

"You and the King will be making an appearance in the surrounding town this afternoon," Effie announces to me as I am fitted into my stays.

Her voice is bright as always but I can hear the air of disapproval stemming from the back of her throat as she makes a thinly veiled attempt to hide her disgust for whatever events are on schedule today.

One of the serving girls slips the over gown, a slim floral sack back, over my head, "Into town?" I ask, nobody in court had dared to venture into the surrounding city.

"Yes," Effie says, almost apologetic, "I'm afraid nobody gives me say in these matters. You will make a few appearances, visit a handful of selected homes. I assure you, the royal guard will be on point at all times, you needn't fret. Your husband is making a speech, after all."

So, that was it. Peeta was making an attempt to rally in the surrounding people, keep them at bay for a while. And he needed me to stand behind him, play the role of simple, relatable Seam girl that everybody seemed to now value.

Not that I minded, of course. I was desperate to escape this place for a moment, even if it meant I had to paint on a smile while waving to crowds of desperate, angry people.

* * *

The travel into the city is surprisingly pleasant. The roads to and from the estate are reasonably well paved, which allows me the ability to read and do some knit work along the way. I don't speak much to Peeta, it's hard to even look at him, knowing the words I've exchanged with Johanna.

Peeta, on the other hand, has no suspicion of me, and therefor, no reason to keep silent on the journey into town.

"You're wearing your locket, not the ruby?" he notes, observing the pendant that hangs against my neck.

I nod politely and briefly hold my position in the book, looking up at him. "Yes," I respond curtly, "Effie thought it was ill advised to go 'traipsing around with urchins' while wearing such a piece."

"And what do you think, Katniss," his voice molds into the same tone he uses while debating amongst his council, "do you consider these people 'urchins', as Effie would call them?"

His question is challenging, and I know there is a deeper intent behind it- one that I can't quite pick out.

I fold my book over and place it on the embroidered carriage seat, "I wouldn't know. I have yet to meet them." My reply is plain, honest. I'm sure that wasn't what he was asking, but I have learned throughout the years it is always best to stay vaguely neutral during such conversations.

"But in general," he prods, "do you value the people of Panem?"

"I value all people, regardless of their birth."

Peeta gives me his signature grin, "Fair enough, Katniss, fair enough." His eyes lighten as he smoothly maneuvers himself across the carriage, "We'll talk later. Besides, we should probably break for a meal."

* * *

We end up settling against a bank for lunch. The serving girls unload salted meats and fried potatoes, while Peeta and I are set up with a small picnic along the water.

"Why did you give me the ruby," I inquire, pressing my fingers against his arm as I unwrap a slice of pound cake, "It's so different than the other pieces I have received." The promise of warm food and a generous glass of wine has lightened both of us up.

He plucks a flower from the grass and tucks it behind my ear, "It reminded me of you. Heat, warmth, love. They say red is the most passionate color."

I bite my lip and raise an eyebrow, "What? Are you trying to get me into bed?"

"If you're offering…" he trails off, laughing as he eyes my stomach. Cinna, in a stroke of genius, has emphasized my belly. It's a form of protection, really. A reminder that I'm pregnant. No person of sound mind, regardless how barbaric, would dare harm a woman with child.

"Who do you want to assign as official governess," Peeta suddenly pipes up as he lays against the blanket, folding his hands across his waist.

"Isn't that usually a political decision?" I ask. The role of official governess was more of a title than an actual position, my own, one of my mother's ladies, rarely spoke more than three words to me.

"It is," he replies, "but I figured, considering the current state of affairs, you might as well have some imput in the decision. It would have to be approved, of course. "

I consider it for a moment. I didn't know many people here. Prim would be the automatic choice, but she was a child herself and already the baby's aunt. Johanna was a friend of sorts, but considering what we had discussed amongst ourselves, it hardly seemed decent to appoint her as the heir apparent's governess. Besides, she was too brash.

And then there was Madge. Kind, gentle Madge, who could certainly do with the elevated status of Goveness to the Children of Panem. I had known her for years, trusted her, but I wasn't foolish enough to believe she would ever be approved.

"Annie," I say, settling on the only other woman I really knew. She may be off her rocker, but she was a Duchess and Finnick was a close friend of Peeta's. It was a practical decision.

Peeta smiles, "Oddly enough, that is exactly who my council was considering. I dare say, you're becoming one of us yet."

* * *

The crowds that greet our arrival are remarkably pleasant. Perhaps they have been selected for their loyalty, or maybe even bribed with a few coins, I'm not entirely certain- perhaps the rebellion had yet to meet this side of the country.

As some type of publicity stunt I am brought to a local orphanage and directed to smile with the children as a varying group of printers and writers are hussled around by Effie and instructed to take note of my 'charitable demeanor' and 'perky nose'. It isn't the children themselves that bother me. They were all relatively pleasant, a bit timid around me, but not arrogant or crude in the way the children I grew up around were. There's even a little blond girl, six or seven, that reminds me of Prim when she was younger- but something about the austere atmosphere, the cruel empty walls, is overwhelming and I find myself escaping from the flurry of people. For a group tasked to value my protection, they don't seem to notice that I'm gone.

I meander around a bit, running my fingertips against the uneven plaster as I traipse through the hallways, following the alluring scent of hearty food- something with gravy, I'm sure of it.

The kitchen is a little brick room off of the main building. It's smaller than I would have expected for a place that has to feed so many people, but I imagine they don't make much more than gruel on your normal day.

The door is already open, letting the heat from the kitchens seep out into the open air, so I don't bother to knock before I enter. At first, nobody notices my presence. They're all to busy, heating the stoves, tending to the fires- I have to clear my throat in order to make my presence known, but as soon as I do every eye in the room turns towards me. A robust serving cook, a woman I believe they called Seeder, turns towards me, hand on hip, and raises an eyebrow.

"Is there anything I can do to help," I ask, desperate for an escape from the hordes of people and the overall depravity of their situation. I was tired of playing Queen.

The other kitchen woman laughs in my direction, leaning toward her friend and speaking in the joking banter of one of the eastern voices, "No, no," she speaks in a patronizing, broken tongue, still smiling, "Why don't the lady keep to her throne."

"I'm not incompetent," I press firmly, "A cook I am most certainly not, but I can boil water and tend to a kitchen."

Nobody responds.

The women pass nervous glances amongst themselves so this time I raise my voice, "I am your Queen, after all. I can take a damn pot of water."

One of the older girls, who was probably raised in this place herself, turns towards me, "Well, I don't care who you are, just keep your and don't bother us." She throws me an apron and hands me a peeler, motioning towards the pot of potatoes resting on the counter.

I keep quiet as I peel, focusing on my busy work. It's relaxing to do such a simple task. Back home, in Seam, the main cook used to task Gale and I with simple chores like shucking peas or washing down vegetables to keep us from 'running around his kitchen'.

I learn from my quiet observation that most of the girls here are picking up work part time. Most of them, like I guessed, are former orphans themselves who are either in need of a few spare coins or looking to help out the place that aided them. They observe, of course, from the corner of their eye, but it doesn't take long before they immerse themselves in their idle gossip and forget the excitement of watching a Queen peel potatoes. It isn't until Hilde, one of the, makes a quip about her husband, that I butt in on their conversation and finally pull myself from the silence of my tasks.

I laugh, almost forgetting where I am, "My husband does the same thing, men are simple in that way."

"So," one of the girls giggles, eyeing me, "What is he like? The King?"

"Peeta is a good man," I sigh, "He's nothing like you would expect- kind, gentle."

"I meant in bed, silly," the girl leans against the counter, propping her elbows against the stone.

"Orchid!" One of the older women interrupts, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"What?" she explains with indignation and a roll of her eyes.

"She's a lady, forgive her, Your Majesty." Seeder steps in, placing a basket of bread on the table and unrolling a package of course cheese from the cupboard.

"It's Katniss," I affirm, "And I am far from a lady, I assure you, I am constantly reminded of this fact."

"Well then, Ka-" the girl, Orchid, freezes and every woman in the room's head turns to snap in the direction of the doorway.

"Oh, Katniss, there you are! I've been looking all over for you." The voice is as recognizable as always. It's Peeta, casually standing in the orphanage kitchen, hand propped against the doorway as is he if he was a common merchant rather than a King.

"Ladies," I say, addressing the small, shell shocked group of women, "This is my husband, His Majesty, King Peeta."

* * *

For some reason, initially, the kitchen women are far more reserved around him than they were about me. Perhaps it was because of my upbringing, my lack of taste in decorum and social standing, that had allowed me to so effortlessly ingrain myself with the women- not that it matters, as soon as Peeta acts like his charming self, effortlessly acting as if he was nothing more than a baker boy stopping by to deliver bread, they open up to him. They stand around him, feeding off of every word he say. I even spot a few of the girls openly flirt with him, meticulously laughing at his jokes and jumping to assure him as he give a self deprecating joke.

One woman, a plain girl of perhaps twenty, has the audacity to place her hand against the side of his leg. It makes my blood boil, seeing another woman with him. I imagine this is what it was like before we wed, him surrounded by a gaggle of girls who were willing to do whatever he pleased. A party every night, another woman in his bed. It was hard enough knowing what he done with them, women I knew, women I spoke to on a daily basis, but seeing her hand- inching across his thigh, it makes me want to slit her throat. But instead I just side eye her from the little corner I'm awkwardly mingling in.

And Peeta must catch on, because he carefully brushes her off of him, calling out for me. "Katniss," he says, "come on over. Here, can one of you lovely ladies tell me where I can fetch my wife a glass of wine?"

"I'll do it, Peeta," one of the younger girls jumps at the opportunity, giving a curtsy before popping open one of the bottles from the orphanage's very limited stash of liquor.

"Why thank you," Peeta says, giving her a charming little grin before pulling me against him and placing the glass in my hand, "Here," he says to Seeder, placing a few coins in her hand, "for the drinks."

And even Seeder flushes, giving him a doting smile as she pockets the money.

"So," says Orchid, leaning towards my husband, "are you going to be at the festival tonight?"

"The festival?" Peeta questions, "I don't believe that is on my schedule."

"Oh, don't invite to him that, Orchid. He's a king, imagine the parties he has been too, he'll have no interest in such simple affairs," Seeder swats her rag at Orchid, chastising her.

"No, no," Peeta gives me an innocent kiss on the side of my neck, "Tell me, that is, if you'll have me. I have no opposition to a good festival."

* * *

The "festival" consists of a group of common folk and a few buckets of ale. What it lacks in decor, it makes up for in spirit. The flurry of people, serving girls, daily workers, a small group of lesser merchants, drink to their heart's content as the

Peeta and I stick to the sidelines. He can't drink too much, not when he has to make a speech at the town square, so he spends his time talking with the other men, and in the most surprising fashion- actually listening to their complaints without the threat of treason. It's something no other King would do, and it makes me for a moment if they're all wrong, and then I realize that Peeta was no fool. The two of standing here, immersing ourselves with commoners, this story would be spread throughout half the kingdom in no more than a fortnight.

While Peeta and the men talk amongst themselves I stick by him, carefully observing his interactions as I loop my arm through his, occasionally pressing a kiss against his neck. It isn't until somebody breaks out a fiddle that I finally decide to pull a reluctant Peeta into a dance.

It's a simple country morris, a common thing in Seam- I could master the steps in my sleep. Peeta, on the other hand, is hilarious to watch as he fumbles through the dance, making an attempt to keep up with the steps of the people around him.

And so we laugh, for the first time in a long time, we just laugh. At him, at ourselves. At the fact that we're standing in the middle of a group of commoners, having a better time than we have had at any Capitol affair. And oh, we have fun, cheering as the others engage in drinking games- stooping down to play spinning tops with the children.

Effie would have a fit if she saw us here.

But eventually, after a few card games and circle dances, the fun has to end. Everybody's sad to see us go, they even boo at the guards that come to collect us. Some of the women throw their handkerchiefs in his direction, murmuring amongst themselves that they 'never expected him to be that handsome'.

The speech itself is marvelous, but I've heard half a dozen by now so I mainly turn him out and focus on my surroundings. We're propped up on the town's center stage, there are a few peasants with us, common merchant folk too, for the sake of appearances.

And then, things take a change.

Peeta concludes his speech by noting the importance of the 'family unit'. He goes on to compare the Kingdom of Panem to one large family, noting that nothing more would pain him than to, "see a family broken up, torn by the sorrows of war and despair, left for anyone to take it's reapings at a whim." .After all, he says, he understood, he now had a baby of his own to protect.

And it's then, when he mentions our child that the man collapses against me on the stage, bringing me back into reality. He's one of the working class selected for the show, and the guards draw their guns, ready to shoot, as he falls my skirts.

"Stop!" I yell at the guards, causing Peeta to pause his words. "Hold your fire!" The words echo around the square and beyond as my voice is amplified. "Stop!" I'm nearing the young man, reaching down to help him, when he drags himself up to his knees and trains a knife against my throat.

I instinctively back up a few steps, raise my hands above my head to show my intention was harmless. Instead he finds my movements as a threat and only tightens the knife's position against me. Up close, I notice the ragged hole in his cheek where something - falling stone maybe - punctured the flesh. He smells of burning things, hair and meat and coal. His eyes are crazed with pain and fear.

"Freeze," one of my guards lashes out his sword. I wonder what this must look like from below, The Queen at the mercy of a crazed man with nothing to lose.

His garbled speech is barely comprehensible as he addresses Peeta. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill her, after what you've done to us."

I don't give Peeta a chance to answer. In a split second I rip the knife from my throat, the adrenaline soaring through my body as I fight against the man's strength. I don't even hesitate when I plunge the knife into his gut.

His body makes a sickeningly wet sound as the metal cuts through it and he falls down against the balcony, dead.

* * *

**Author's Note: I was uncertain about this twist, but I can't wait to show you exactly who has been playing on Johanna's side. This is the last filler chapter, I had to even it out as a lot of stuff goes down in the next four or so chapters.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveandsafety. Shout out to cinna-mon-peeta-bread.**

**Congrats and a big thank you to my beta, prisspanem.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Hunger Games Universe. Yada, yada, yada.**

* * *

I've never killed a man before. Never taken a human life. I'm sure it should resonate more, my first kill, but I don't feel anything but relief as the red stain of death flows against his collapsed body.

It takes a moment for the collective to realize what I've done. The Royal Guard stands still, the accompaniment of people freeze in their positions. There's an audible pause, a moment of silence.

And Peeta, Oh, Peeta, his eyes widen in shock- relief and he takes a step back, his arms reaching out to me, grasping the sides of my dress.

It's a mix of the shock, maybe the pressure on my body from the baby, that makes me collapse against him. I've seen dead men before, I've hunted too, blood is no surprise. But for some reason, I find myself collapsing against his side, desperate for the support of another.

I can hear the mumblings of the crowds, a fist or two flying throughout the huddles of people. Blood splattered against the ground as the guards attempt to control the crowd. I'm sure a fight or two will break out, blood breeds blood, my father would always say.

There's a point, somewhere, where the energy amongst the crowd just breaks. Years of poverty, of tired bread, of always living in servitude to those with more- you can almost see it, the anger, radiating through their bodies as they fight against the soldiers. And there are cries, some for our heads, but more often for my rise to power. Pleas for me to fight with them.

Peeta starts to pull me away. The guard, Darius, grabs at my back, attempting to hustle me into the next room.

But for some reason, stupidity or otherwise, I feel the need to speak.

"Stop!" I scream out, racing to the edge of the balcony, I pull away from Peeta, energy coursing through my body as my voice echoes into the crowd. The huddles of linen and silk from below stop for a moment, if only to examine the sanity of their queen, "Stop, stop, stop!" I proclaim with unburdened frustration.

"Don't you realize," I say, my face pinching with question, "that this," I motion downward, "will bring nothing but sorrow. Your burdens," I glance towards Peeta, "are virtuous, for sure. But you must understand that there is no winning here. You can cry in the streets," my voice wavers with unfettered emotion, "you can have your men throw stones at my home, or hold knives at my throat. But look around," I pause, "look at the streets on which years of your ancestors have lived, have built. Your blood bleeds into ours."

I can almost feel Peeta's breath against my back, the wavering uncertainty that screams, what are you doing? But I continue, my voice steady, "In the end," I say, "we all burn together."

Immediately, after the words fall out of my mouth, the crowd bursts into hysterics. I'm not sure how to react, I just stand there - frozen - until one of the King's guards comes to drag my away, my arms thrashing as they cart me into the safety of the building.

* * *

They hold me back, two of his men, restraining me as I fight against them. I'm not quite sure why I do it, it's not because of the protesters- I just can't handle it, being held back like that. It's almost symbolic, really. The King's men restraining me. And so, in that moment, everything comes down on me. The pregnancy, my father's death, my country's turmoil. I kick and I bite. I scream Peeta's name as high as I can, begging them to release me. To unhand me.

At one point they must sedate me.

When I wake up I am in another bedroom I don't recognize. The sheets are pulled tight, probably pinned down to keep me from trashing. Not that it does much good. I'm still in my skirts, which gives me ten feet of wiggle room.

Peeta's sitting in a chair across from me. I imagine he's patiently waited for me to wake up. Because that's what Peeta does, he waits for me.

"Hey," my voice is raspy.

"Hey," he gives a weak smile.

"What happened?" I question him, hastily ripping the sheets out and urging him to sit down next to me on the bed.

He doesn't move from his chair.

"The usual," Peeta says, and he sounds so tired. So defenseless, in a way I've never seen him before. "There were rumors, you know?" And for the first time he looks at me as if he questions my motives.

"Rumors about what?" I question him, echoing my own thoughts.

He takes one look at me, takes a moment to stare at my growing stomach. "It's nothing," he says, putting on that signature Peeta grin, "nothing to concern yourself with at least. Right now, you need to rest."

"I'm not fragile."

"I almost thought I would lose you out there," he says to me, his eyes don't quite meet mine. Instead his gaze wanders aimlessly into the distance, "both of you."

I give him a small smile, it's hard for me to think of it that way, awkward, really. Most days the baby seems like more of a figment than anything else. But one day it would come, and I would be a mother.

It was strange to think of myself that way. A mother to a living, breathing human being. I had never really thought of children that way. Whatever innate feelings made women yearn for children had always been missing for me. It was a little cruel, besides. Any child of mine was doomed to my own fate. And I had been lucky.

Peeta lies beside me, crossing his feet against the weaved gold of the quilts, "Do you ever think," he inquires, "of what our lives would be like, what we would be like, if we'd never had a crown between us?"

I shrug. There's no point in speculating on 'what if'.

Peeta continues, "You'd hunt. Maybe I'd be an artist, or even a baker? Maybe we'd grow up together, maybe we'd stumble upon each other and one day we'd just fall in love, settle in a little cottage- make a family?" he looks at me, almost scared of my reaction.

"Do all of your little worlds include me?" I question him.

He smiles at me, pressing a kiss to my cheek, "Always."

* * *

We spend the next few hours in the carriage riding back to the estate. Everybody's exhausted, myself included. The horses are too weary to ride- and quite frankly, I can't blame them. So I end up playing cards with Peeta while he prattles on about inane topics, an obvious diversion from the serious topics on hand.

He is on his sixth speech about fourteenth-century politics when I finally interrupt him. "Peeta," I say, biting my lips in a desperate attempt to distract him, "what happened earlier, you really ought to tell me. It was my speech after all."

Peeta looks up at me for only a split second, "Rebels, bloodshed. What do you really want to know? Now, as I was saying, Master Charleston of the fourth realm enacted the law of parish two years after Lord Dunphy-"

For the love of god, I think, does he ever stop talking?

"Peeta." I say, my frustration reaching it's peak. "If you do not stop talking about politics for the briefest second, you will be sleeping alone for at least a week."

Peeta turns his head, "First, I assure you, separate beds would only be a punishment on your part. Second, what do you suggest I talk about. Because if you think I want to discuss the dead bodies piling up, you're sorely mistaken."

"Dead bodies?" I question, fearing the worst.

"Two men are dead," he says.

I sigh. I wasn't expecting any different.

"Trampled. They rushed to the gates, cried your name. You shouldn't have said those things, Katniss," his voice hitches.

"Why not?" I question, daring him to answer. Finally, I'm getting some response out of him.

"Every word from your mouth incites something these days, and maybe it will quell the cause for a while. Maybe they'll take your words into account, but by validating them? By taking a voice, a stance? You're endangering yourself, Katniss."

"And what?" I ask, glinting at him, "I should trade silence for safety? While my people, my brothers, your brothers, for that matter, are dying the streets? I have every right to a voice, Peeta."

"There's a baby, Katniss. Don't play hero." He uses the one thing he has on me, the baby, against me.

I scowl at him, "Contrary to what you may think, I am more than the mother of your child. I am more than your wife. I am the daughter of a King. I am beholden, I have a duty, to protect my people over myself. And if you don't understand that, perhaps it is only a testimony of your kingship."

Immediately I regret his words. They were traitorous, surely. His mouth parts slightly, as if in shock. If I was anybody else my head would be on a stake.

"I'm not looking to have this fight, Katniss. You know, I wonder sometimes if I'm foolish. If it's true, that you're playing me? That's what they all say, you know. And maybe I've been harsh on you, all of this hasn't been easy. I'm not the same person I used to me. I've had to play King for so long, and now look at me?" he sighs, "And I know this was never what you wanted, but maybe, just maybe you can be happy with this- with me. I'll try, I swear."

I look at him for a moment. Just look at him.

"There's a rumor, that you met with traitors. That you consorted with those who wish to harm me. And I want more than anything to believe it's not true. But I can't give you a pass forever, you know? If you're playing those games, it will come out eventually. And I'm not sure if I will be able to protect you then."

My heart quickens. I think of Prim, who would surely be indicted on charges. Of Annie, who would be slain with her husband. Even Johanna, who had become a sort of friend. What would happen if he looked too far.

"Katniss," he says, his voice still, "if you're a traitor…"

And so I do the only thing I can think of. And it's horrible really, but I have Prim to protect.

"I love you," I tell him, and it's just comes out. Because it's the only thing I know that will stop his words from coming.

* * *

**Author's Note: Here's your update, it is a little short and not much is accomplished, but the next five or so chapters are 90% angst and action, so I'm spacing it out.**

**I have a new historical story, All Was Golden in the Sky. In this Victorian AU Katniss is caught stealing a pair of shoes from Mellark's Department Store. Instead of arresting her, Peeta takes her (and Prim!) into his home. Peeta isn't a Prince here, but he is wealthy and if you like BYHIHL you'll probably like this fic. Make sure to check it out:) This is the story that got me out of my writing funk and inspired me to update, so any support is appreciated.**

**As always, thanks to my beta prisspanem (same handle on tumblr). You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, places, and people are property of their respective owners.**

* * *

He looks at me, fear breaking through his face. "Don't say that if you don't mean it." His voice is gruff, angry, but there's a hint of him there- raw and vulnerable.

I've never been a good liar, so I don't talk- "Shh, shh. I love you, Peeta. I love you, I love you, I love you," I reiterate to him, leaving a soft, gentle kiss on his lips.

His lips gather mine, desperate, needy. Like he's trying to reach something impossible. I try to form a retort, try to tell him exactly why he should do with me, but Peeta's more than excited to just kiss.

I try to touch him, it's not too rough of a ride and it's just enough to distract him. Besides, it's not as if I'd complain if he tried to bed me. Even here.

But oh, Peeta just wants to kiss. He wants to wrap his arms around me and hold me in his embrace, the cool blue fabric of my dress pooling on the floor.

And so he holds me, my body halfway on the carriage seat, my legs wrapped around his, my head in the crook of his shoulder.

" _Is this real?_ " he says as we both tumble off into sleep.

* * *

Peeta is giddy, beautifully giddy, the whole ride home. He accepts my shoddy confession of love with open arms, as if it is the greatest gift he has ever been given.  _For the first time I think we have a real shot at friendship._  Now that there is nothing between us, no unrequited feelings or . It's as if we are in true form.

When we're coming back to the estate, only a couple hours away, the men stop to water the horses at a little just higher into the surrounding cliffland. We're let out for a stretch with only a couple of guards to follow. It's a breather from the constant supervision we've had these past days.

Peeta must know the area, because he leads me through the surrounding foliage with no hesitation, his arm resting firmly on the small of my back.

"There's a beautiful view out here," he says to me, "Sometimes I come out here with my council and we talk amongst ourselves, bring a little wine."

"You don't happen to have a bottle on you?" I question, laughing.

He smiles at me, "I have no desire to dilute this moment."

* * *

We settle together for a while, my head in his lap, his fingers undoing my braid. It's an intimate moment, but not like the ones we have had before. There's that same looseness to our relationship, that lack of burden or anger. I'm not even sure he has taken my declaration of love seriously, we never discussed it, but he seems fine enough to pretend with me that we are whole.

"Tell me a story," I say, my hair pooling in his lap.

He looks down at me, his eyes bright with wonder. As if the sight of me is more beautiful than the view below.

"There once was a girl, not that many centuries ago," he starts, "And she was beautiful, but oh so poor. And her father had died when she was young and her mother was weak in the head. But the girl had a little sister, so she held onto herself. But the world was cruel back then, and when the times were worst of all, she was in the pit of starvation. And there was a boy, a Prince of noble blood, and one rainy day, he shared bread with her-"

"Why did the boy share his bread?" I butt in, inquiring about the story. "Surely there were other starving girls."

"Because when the boy saw her," he looks down at me once more, "he saw the sun."

Peeta resumes his story, "So the girl fought for her family. She would tie her hair in a braid each morning, and she would go to the local woods, where she would hunt on the King's soil. Nobody cared, of course, for the boy, the Prince, he protected her. And oh, they became the closest of friends. He taught her how to read, she taught him how to hunt. They both struggled and learned together, two young adolescents from such different worlds- but then, one day, the boy was sent away. His brothers had passed, and he was expected to be king. The girl never heard from him again."

I sucked inward, "You can't end it there!" I protested.

Peeta smiled at me, "Have patience, Katniss. I'm not done. And then one day, the girl was arrested for hunting on the King's ground. She was brought to the Castle, where the boy lived. It turned out he had been watching her for years, observing her and protecting her as long as he could. The arrest was simply a way to draw her closer. For there was a snake in his court, and he needed the girl to defeat it."

"Did they kill the Snake?" I prod him.

Peeta stares outward, as if he doesn't know the answer, "I don't know. Perhaps I'll tell you tomorrow. But I do know this. Whatever happened to them, whether it be death or justice, they went out to battle  _together_."

And for the first time, I wish we were the girl and the boy. I wish we were together like that. I wish we could be  _more_.

* * *

The second we arrive back at court, Peeta is drawn into meetings. I don't join him, I have more important things to do- I need to speak with Johanna. I have my guards arrange for her to meet me in my sitting room, something I'm certain she will not appreciate. Johanna was not fond of following orders.

When Johanna arrives in my quarters she is half dressed, an open corset displayed over a layer of daisy colored skirts. "You called me, Princess?" she says with a sarcastic glint in her voice.

"Yes," I nod, "I think we need to speak. About the meeting I proposed, with your band of traitors- I don't think it would be  _wise_."

"Wise?" she narrows her eyes at me, taking an offensive stance, "You're not looking to back out on me, are you?"

I shake my head, giving her an explanation. "My guards have doubled since the incident. I don't think it would be particularly smart for me to expose myself like that, agreed?"

She sighs, "that makes sense, he really has the reigns on you, doesn't he?"

I ignore the question, "That's all, Johanna." I say, dismissing her.

As she turns to leave her fingers catch against the mahogany of the doorway, "You know, Katniss. You really need to speak with your sister."

* * *

I take Johanna's words to heart. Regardless of whatever implications she had intended, I had been neglecting Prim over the past weeks. It was hard for me to be around her, she reminded me so much of my old life, how much I had lost and gained over these past months. How different I was.

So when I find her, legs pushed over the edge of the south quarter's pond, boots flung across the grass, her simple muslin dress pushed up to her knees, I sit beside her, my own dress a little harder to navigate.

"I have to say, sometimes I feel my dresses grow more ridiculous as the weeks go by." I smile at her, trying to make idle conversation.

She looks over from the pond and turns to me, her voice breathy, "Katniss!" she says with a hint of surprise.

"Prim," I give her a bright smile and pull her into my embrace. "I'm back."

She nods, looking down, "I know," she says, "I was terrified when I heard about that man, it was awful, thinking I'd lose you."

Immediately, I feel guilty. Of course I should have visited her sooner, it should have been the first thing I did. She was my sister, after all. How would I feel if some man had pressed a knife to her throat? I would be desperate to see her, anxious to make sure she was truly alright.

"Oh, Prim," I lean my head against her, "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," she shrugs, "they told us you were alive in the announcement. So,  _why_  are you here?"

Did I need a reason to visit my sister? "Johanna reminded me I ought to visit you."

She immediately pales, her rosy cheeks flooding white, "she told you?"

I frown in confusion. "Told me what?" What could Johanna know about my own flesh and blood, my own sister, that I did not?

Prim looks at me, her face contorting, she is visibly distraught, "I didn't mean to, Katniss. I didn't mean to, I just- I wanted to do what was right. I wanted to bring you home! You understand, Katniss?"

"Prim," I say, placing my hands on her shoulders and forcing her to face me, "whatever it is, tell me." I take a glance back to my guards who are mindlessly talking amongst themselves.

"I was sent here long before you. There were dignitaries and papers, nobody notices little girls, I suppose. I gave them to the right people, they slipped them to Gale. Oh, Katniss," she breaks down against the tree, her dress tearing slightly, "I didn't  _mean_  to get you in trouble."

My eyes widen and I surely go as pale as her. My sister was a traitor. Sweet, innocent Prim who never cared much for politics or the art of war. My sister. She had done the unthinkable. My discussions with Johanna were one thing, but Prim, she was a child. Or at least, she had been one when I left.

I remember Johanna's words,  _"-the logs, you don't know?"_

"The merchant logs?" I ask, drawing the empty, composed face that I have learned to master. She nods her head, sniffling. "Are they going to kill me?" She asks, terrified.

I shake my head. "I won't let them."

"What if they find out?" Her body is wracked with sobs, "Will they hurt me?"

My answer is an uncertain lie. Her young age may keep her from death, but who knows where she would end up if the crowds swayed in the opposing direction. But of course, I can't tell her that. "Nobody is going to hurt you, Prim," I say, a little exasperated, "But you have to listen to me, alright? Who else knows? Johanna, Haymitch?"

She shrugs, "There's an accountant for one of the Dukes that's from Seam. His name is Thom, he's very nice. Oh, Katniss, do you think they will hurt him?"

"It's a very real possibility," I tell her, not bothering to shade reality. She wasn't a child anymore. "Those are the consequences of these types of things."

"But I'll protect you," I quickly add with a sigh, " _nobody is going to hurt you_." And I hope for both of our sakes it is true.

* * *

I spend hours with Prim in the privacy of my quarters. Hours upon hours rehearsing with her, telling her what to say if she is ever questioned. Teaching her to play the innocent, naive girl that she is. Making her look like the victim. Not that it was all that hard. Few would see a girl of her age as the perpetrator. I, on the other hand, was past the age of accountability.

Peeta doesn't come to bed that night, a guard tells me he's still in meetings with his council. I'm disappointed, I looked forward to our nights alone, and with my nerves over Prim, his body would be a welcome comfort. I even try to wait for him, I stay up for what must be hours, but by the time he returns to our room I've already fallen into the blissful emptiness of sleep.

But he's there when I wake up, pacing around the room with a cup of tea as I pull myself from groggy sleep.

"Peeta," I say as I notice him, his deep blue jacket crumpled, his white undershirt pulled from underneath his breeches, "Stop pacing. Come," I say, pulling myself into a sitting position, "sit."

He complies, sitting beside my knees. He's still wearing his shoes, and I can't help but wonder if he ever went to sleep.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, you'll need your sleep," he says, giving me a nervous smile.

I shake my head, taking him in for a moment. His eyes are worn with hints of purple under his eyes, which are particularly alight today. Even his blonde curls, messy as usual, seem a little downtrodden.

I draw my hand into his hair, brushing his curls backward and pulling him closer to me. I hadn't seen much of him, and I felt needy, anxious to know what he wished from me, especially after I had placated him with those words.

"Did you sleep last night?" I ask him.

"No," he replies, a little breathy.

"I should have come with you- to the council."

"You would not have enjoyed it, I assure you. It's better you did not come at all," he winces slightly and I feel a little bit anxious as he presses his hands over mind, comforting, as if he is preparing me for bad news.

"You will find out eventually, I suppose," he says, "And you are the Queen, it is our right to know this news first. Katniss," he pauses, "they're arranging to bring us back to the Capitol."

I sigh. I had enjoyed my time at this Estate. It was nice to be surrounded by nature, to avoid the hype of court, but I knew this day would come eventually. "That is not too bad," I laugh, "I assure you I will survive."

"It is not that. Well, I suppose this is good news though it will certainly bring conflict," he pauses, "Gale was captured at Lion's Heart Hill. They're bringing him in now."

* * *

**Author's Note: I loved the scenes there in the beginning. Beautiful friendship, note how they avoid any direct discussion on her confession. It feels very 'them' to me. What did you think of that last reveal? I'm happy to be moving this story along. There's going to be a lot of political progression over the next few chapters. I'm hoping to wrap it up in the next five or so chapters. It is not crazy that I've been writing this story for over a year? Never thought I would be here.**

**As far as that story Peeta told her, did anybody who reads my other fics catch on?**

**This is un-betaed, fyi. I'm going to be without a computer for a few days, so if you want to message me with a question you can send me an ask on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: I'm finally updating this story! I wrote this all in one night and it is in no way beta-ed, so bear with me!**

* * *

"Gale was captured at Lion's Heart Hill, they're bringing him in now."

My heart seizes up at Peeta's words and in those first seconds I can only feel relief, the promise of relinquishment from the hold up of war. But then, when those brief moments fall apart I feel the guilt settle over me. Gale was my kin, my people, and I knew the fate that would befall him.

Gale was going to die. My Gale. I had grown up with him, probably spent more time with him than any other man on this earth...and soon enough, he'd just be gone. My husband would take his head.

But I don't tell Peeta of my conflicts, I only give him a weary smile, "That's good, I suppose."

"No supposing," he says. "I know he's family," Peeta lifts my chin towards him, "but he has been the captain of his own destruction. Everything's over, Katniss," his eyes brighten, "we can go home now, but perhaps more importantly, we can give our child a home."

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

My eyes peer out into the courtyard as I watch the workmen scurry around. A group of six or so men are carrying a long piece of gilded wood and attaching it to the semi-finished platform, it's getting closer now, almost finished.

They're building a block. A block for Gale, something special to suit the ever looming date of his execution. I haven't seen Peeta much since we moved back into the Capitol, he's only shared my bed twice since we arrived and he hasn't been back since I asked him if I could visit Gale. I seem to be getting more visibly pregnant as the days go by and he didn't want me to 'upset the child' by seeing my cousin off.

Or at least, that's what he told me.

"Your Majesty," one of my personal guards calls out to me and I turn away from the ground floor window, "follow me, the steps are rickety though, so be careful."

I nod and clutch the basket of rolls in my hands as we descend into the dungeons. I had told my guards that I wished to deliver bread to the prisoners, they had shook their heads at me but in the end it was a decent enough lie to get me past the doors.

But it doesn't prepare me for what I see when I enter the main holding room. The stench itself is enough to knock a horse dead. It's a tear inducing mix of waste and despair, but what I can grasp with my eyes is far worse. There are people everywhere, mostly men, crammed into little hovels and chained against the walls. They're all covered in layers of grime, thin and bony—most hardly look human anymore. They notice me immediately, perhaps even recognize me, but nobody dares to look up. Their eyes turn away as I walk by, my half-hearted smiles and hastily doled out rolls hardly enough to make up for their condition. It's been awhile since I have seen this kind of despair, this kind of lack. Since coming to the Capitol I had mostly been sheltered from the horrors of the world and so it all comes as a smack in the face to me.

I've made it three quarters of the way through the prison rows when I see her. She's covered in at least three layers of dirt and her plain brown dress has seen better days, but I couldn't miss that face that reminded me so much of home.

"Leevy?" I turn toward her cell, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Katniss," she says with a snarl, spitting at the ground.

One of my guards grips his sword, but I wave him off. Leevy. Now there's a girl that was a long way from home, Leevy was a girl from town, one of Gale's female companions and a decent acquaintance of mine. What on earth was she doing here, locked up in a Capitol prison cell and looking like a common vagrant.

Leevy snorts at my guard, "Oh, don't let Princess here stop you. Come at me big boy. Kill me, see if I care."

I shift uncomfortably in my gown as I near closer to the grate. By now, every eye in the prison has turned to look at us and I can only see the contrasts between us. Two girls from the Seam, now many miles away from home.

We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. My clean hands press against the metal grate as her filthy ones reach out to touch mine through the metal. There is so much contrast between us, and even my simple purple gown makes her's look like rags. My gown, my freedom...how had I ended up so much better off when Leevy was twice the woman I had ever been?

I turn toward the jailer that is accompanying my guards, "Sir, I need you to release this girl by the time the sun sets. Run a message to my ladies and have arrangements for her to be kept in one of my rooms."

The jailer looks at me funnily, "Your Majesty, are you sure? She's one of the King's prisoners and-"

"Yes," I say, "and I'm the King's wife."

An echo of laughter erupts throughout the dungeon, a few chuckles of 'atta girl' thrown in here and there.

The jailer looks around sheepishly and runs a finger through the few strands of hair left on his head, "Of course, whatever you wish. Do you have any other requests, Your Majesty?"

I nod, "I would like to visit Gale."

The man pales instantly and I see my guards tense up.

"I'm sorry," the jailer's voice lowers considerably, "I have orders to ensure that he is granted no visitors."

"I'm sure you do," I tell him, "and I bet you know the gravity of allowing me to visit him." I turn sharply towards my guards, "Perhaps my husband will kill you if you let me see him, but you will most definitely die if I do not. My husband listens to me, and maybe you acted inappropriately towards me, maybe you spoke ill of my late mother. What matters is that your best chance of survival is escorting me to see him."

The jailer practically shakes in his boots, and I almost feel bad for making him so terrified.

I look around the hallway, "Do we have an understanding?"

My guards nod one by one and then finally the jailer gives in. "Follow me this way," he sighs gruffly.

My men and I are lead through a series of chambers by the relenting guard. Gale is seemingly kept tucked away, probably for security reasons, in an endless maze with no predictable pattern of turns. It's after a solid five minutes of walking that I wish I had worn more practical shoes, but soon enough, we arrive at a break in the hallway.

It's tucked into a corner, four guards in bright livery standing twenty or so feet at the end of the hallway, blocking the only entrance, or perhaps in this case, exit. The men part as soon as they see me, wordlessly allowing me to follow down the pathway alone.

If I had any bit of confidence in me, it all falls away when I catch that first glimse of him. Gale. He looks awful, worse than Leevy. His cell is an upgrade from her's, with a wooden chair and a straw sack in it, but he is far My heart yearns for him, for those simpler days in the woods, for the companionship I thought I would always share with him. His simple brown suit has been torn in ten different places, his socks are disheveled...but that hardly rivals his body. Cuts and bruises all over his face, the tell-tale welts of lashes against his legs. God know's what they did to him.

It's when he looks up at me and says, "Hey Catnip, finally made it to my funeral?" that I resolve to save him.

"Hey," I say, slumping my body against the hallway.

"Katniss," he says, his eyes gravitating towards my stomach, "you're here.

"What," I raise an eyebrow, "thought I'd never come."

Gale scoots his chair closer to the bars, "Stranger things have happened. Look at you, you're pregnant," his voice drops, "Now that's something I thought I'd never see, Katniss Everdeen with another man's child. I swear, it's almost surreal."

"I thought I would never see you again," I tell him sharply, my tone bubbling with unspoken anger.

"Yeah," he gives me a sad smile, "but here you are."

"I disobeyed my husband's orders,"I tell him, "more than one person will probably end up dead over this visit, you know that?"

Gale only laughs, "Oh Katniss, I see you haven't changed. God know's how that husband of yours keeps up."

"You really screwed up Gale," I look at him and just try to make him understand what's going on, "you might die because of this!"

"I will die," he says, almost expectantly, "but it's alright. Freedom is a cause I believe in, even if you don't."

"I believe in Freedom," I snort at him, "I just don't believe in stupidity."

"I don't want to fight, Katniss." Gale gives me that look, the desperate one eyes that scream 'this might be our last chance to speak'.

"Neither do I," I look anxiously into the hallway where I can see the jailer fretting.

"Just take care of my family Katniss, make sure Rory doesn't end up dead."

"I will," I say, my hands reaching out and clasping his, probably for the last time. "I'll protect them, don't worry."

He gives me a nod of solidarity and turns in the opposite direction where a cluster of men have gathered, guards probably looking for me. "You should go."

* * *

The guards who were sent to find me refuse to answer any of my questions as they parade me into my chambers to be dressed for dinner. Even my prep team averts their eyes a little as they hurriedly shove me into a crimson red gown with dotted crystals along the sleeves and waist.

But Peeta is there at the doors to greet me, a hand opened for mine as he ushers me into the formal dining room, a smile forced unto his face as he takes a seat beside me. I know he knows, I can see it just by looking at the lines that crease in his forehead, the tight grip he takes on his fork as we start the first course. But he doesn't mention it, just sits in silence beside me as I focus too wholeheartedly on the peas before me.

After the main courses have been completed and the desserts have been put away, Peeta rises to announce a toast.

"In celebration of our first week back at court, I will be sharing some of my finest wine over tonight's dinner, in honor of our victory and the pregnancy of my wife Kat-"

"Traitor," hisses somebody from the table across from us. And I know it's meant for me, I can see it from the way they all go silent, the way every eye turns from Peeta. And in that moment, everything falls down on me. Gale, the pressure coming from the hundreds of nobles who probably want my blood. I can't handle it, I just need to get away.

And so I run, I run out of that ballroom faster than Peeta can shout out my name or the guards can start to chase after me. I run straight into one of the spare rooms down the hall, quickly bolting the lock behind me and screaming at the guards who try to shove at the door as I quickly hide in one of the storage closet.

I sit there for what feels like hours, just pondering my fate, before I hear the tell-tale breaking of the door and find myself shriveling up tighter into my little cocoon.

But it isn't a guard that comes to join me in my little oasis, it's my husband.

"Katniss," he calls out, peeking through the shuttered doors, "may I join you?"

"You can come in," I say, clenching my hands into my dress.

Peeta opens the closet door and slumps down beside me, "You went to see him," he says, ever so frankly, "You went to see him against my orders."

"You can't hurt him. That could just as easily be us, I can't let you kill him," my voice falters and I pull tighter against my dress.

"Oh Katniss," Peeta sighs, "what have you done?"

"What do you mean?" I ask him, turning my head towards his.

"Your cousin, you know what they're saying?"

I shake my head.

Peeta stares outward, "I know I have asked you this before, but look me in the eyes and tell me that you never loved him, that you don't wish you were wedded off to him."

My voice croaks, "I never loved him, but he's my cousin. My King."

"He's not your King," he says matter of factly, "I am."

"Seam will always be my homeland, and Gale will always be my family. He will be an uncle of sorts to your child," I remind him of the baby, a desperate plea for his mercy.

"I'm your husband," he reminds me, "Do you know how this looks, Katniss? You running off to see the man who were promised to? A man who defied my authority, who came after my crown?"

"Gale is my blood," I snap at him.

"Yeah?" he says, raising an eyebrow, "Well, I'm that baby's father. Or at least, I damn well hope I am."

"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?"

Peeta shrugs, "You want to know what they're saying? That you and Gale spent an awful lot of time together during that visit of his. Fits the timeline, I suppose."

"How dare you! How can you even suggest that?" I raise my voice, my hands push against his chest and I shove him back into the wall.

Peeta gives me a gentle sigh, "Look Katniss, what people think matters. Do you know what this is like for me? To have everybody snicker behind my back, gossip about another man taking you to bed? You know that's not even the worst of it," He catches my wrist, slowly hoisting me up to face him. His arms pin me gently against the wall, one of his hands grasping my abdomen

I look up at him, "What's the worst of it then, Peeta?" I sneer at his name.

"You know those discrepancies I was telling you about, Katniss?" he meets my tone with equal vigor, "The information passed around to your little King? They think that was you."

"They think it's me?" I turn my eyes away from his, my voice lowering with the gravity of the situation.

He locks his gaze with mine, "Katniss, they're going to conduct a thorough investigation, they'll comb through the logs and they'll find who took that information..."

My heart catches in my throat and I think of my sister, sweet innocent Prim. She would die for this, if he knew.

"Peeta," I say, placing a shaky hand on his arm.

His eyes capture mine knowingly and the grip on my arm gets stronger, "Katniss, don't."

"It was me," I say, the words just barely audible.

My husband shakes his head.

I place my other hand on his, "I took some documents off of your desk and I-"

At that his eyes darken with realization, "And what, Katniss? You thought you would get away with it, that you could trade secrets with your lover or cousin or god know's what and I would just let you walk away from it? You thought you could use me, that you could the fact that I loved you?"

"Peeta, I-"

Peeta's body snaps towards me, his pupils flooding with darkness, "Get out!" he screams and I find myself backing against the closet walls, "Katniss, I swear before I do something I regret." His voice turns flatter and he calls out loudly, "Guards!"

" _Get out,_ before I do something I am going to regret," and with that his hands wrap around my wrists, pulling them behind my back as he shoves me forward, "Guards!"

Almost immediately, his men burst into the room, their eyes widening at the situation unfolding before them. My face burns red as I struggle against Peeta's grip, "Let go of me," I growl.

But Peeta doesn't respond. Instead, he turns towards his guards and in the most leveled voice possible addresses them, "Have one of the boys alert my council, I'm calling an emergency meeting," he frees my wrists and pushes me towards one of the burly men, "Bring the Queen to the towers,  _lock her up._ "

* * *

**Author's Note: I had this awesome angsty argument between them but I lost all of my memos on my phone and alas, with it went the original dialogue for a bunch of my stories. Nevertheless, I did finally write this up. It gets better guys, I promise. They WILL make it.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I don't own any names, places, etc. The only thing I own is the original content written by yours truly. In advance, this chapter is not betaed!**

* * *

The melodic chime of the tell-tale clock rings through my tower oasis, its voice barely heard behind the deafening sound of the downpour outside these walls. The storm had been going on for hours and I still hadn't mustered up enough effort to remove myself from my perch and bother with the shutters.

My feet curl up against the ancient area rug that covered most of the stone floor. This place was comforting, so much more so than the bedchamber I had shared with Peeta. The ceiling was large, made of weathered wood that met at a point, its long panels discolored by the elements. My bed was propped against one wall of the circular room, covered in homey red bedding that somehow complimented the deep blue settee that sat against the window across from me. I loved everything about this place, from the eclectic decor to the almost foreign feel of the furnishings  _-_ for once, I felt at home in my surroundings.

And it did feel like home, even if I was without him, even if my nights were full of terrors and my days full of the fear that grasped me everytime I thought of my growing belly, the child that was my line of survival one day leaving me.

And I liked the rain, I liked the lack of silence that had settled through this place. The servants didn't speak to me, most of my meals were delivered through a slat and the girls who came to bathe me did nothing short of snicker in my direction. In some ways my body yearned for human connection, but I tried not to think about it. I tried not to think about how Peeta hated me, or how Gale was most likely dead. I tried not to think of those six words he spoke to me, every time he visited.

I had spent the first couple of days here crying and screaming against the door, begging the guards to allow me to see him, begging them to let him know that I was sorry. But after a while I realized that my parched mouth and tired face were doing nothing to get him up here, and I resolved myself to the bed under the fear that they would sedate me if I continued my tirade.

Eventually I tried to hurt myself, took the butter knife to my wrist and tried to end it all. That's when he came, five o'clock on a friday evening.

" _They'll lock you up in a barren room if you try that one again," he said to me, our eyes meeting for one fleeting moment._

" _Go to hell, Peeta."_

" _They're never going to give you a knife again, you know. And they're removing all of the tassels and ropes around this are. But I'll leave you here for now. I don't think padded rooms are healthy, for the baby, that is."_

_I snorted at him, "What do you care? Let me slit my throat, this way you can save money on the execution."_

_His jaw tightened, "Let me know when you want to talk. We can make a deal, Katniss."_

And he returned every week after that—same time, same day. He didn't say much to me, I always curled into the bed before he came, not even daring to look at him. But he'd sit there for an hour or so, before leaving me with those same words as he turned the door handle.

" _We can make a deal, Katniss."_

And every week I avoided speaking to him, but this time, this time it would be different. I was resolved to speak to him, to ensure the safety of my sister and Gale's family. I had promised Gale that I would protect his family, and I needed to make sure that they were covered after the baby was born, after I was gone and buried. And so here I sit, it was fifteen minutes past five - he was late and I was pulled up on the red couch across from the door, anxiously awaiting his arrival.

 _Maybe he isn't coming,_ my mind simmers with doubt,  _maybe he gave up on you, Katniss._

I shake the doubt, my eyes wandering down to the window beside me. This room wasn't really  _that_ high up. There weren't even bars on the windows, and the wall itself was covered in little decorations that I could grip onto. If I wasn't with child, if there wasn't a patrol guarding the grass below - I probably could have made it.

It's another five, ten, fifteen minutes before I hear him climbing up the staircase, the heavy sound of his boots a patent trademark of his arrival.

He stops in the doorway when he sees me, "You're up?"

I turn toward him, my eyes meeting his for the first time in so long. He must be training, because his shoulders look broader and his body seems even more defined in the light of the room. But his face is tight, so unloving when he looks at me - I almost want to curl into the bed once more when I see it.

"I want to make a deal," I tell him, my voice raspy from disuse.

His eyes widen ever so slightly before his face returns to that same steely resolve, "What do you want, Katniss?"

Peeta props his hand against the doorway, not daring to even close the door. It's almost as if he is afraid of me, as if I might harm him if he leaves the two of us alone.

"I want protections."

"Protections?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Protections for my family," I say, "for my people, for Gale's family. I want to ensure that my sister lives a life of comfort, that she isn't ostracized from this place and has the option to marry when she grows older. I wanted her to be considered part of the noble class, and given rights to return back to Seam when she comes of age."

Peeta nods, his piercing blue eyes scanning across the room, "That's reasonable…"

"That's not it," I tell him, "Gale has two brothers, boys who will become heirs to the throne," my voice falters ever so slightly, " _upon his death._ They're just kids, Peeta. Rory, the older boy, he deserves to have a future… and Vick barely knows what is going on in his world. I need to know that they're safe, I made a promise."

"Fine," Peeta says, his tone tinged with a harshness I don't expect, "but I'm going to need a couple of names on a piece of paper by the time I arrive here next."

My heart flutters at that. I'd have to give somebody up, if I was going to protect my family… but who did I know that wouldn't give up Prim in turn?

I shrug, "If that's what I need to protect my sister and those boys, so be it."

"You'll give your co-conspirators up," he questions, "for the comfort of your cousins?"

"I promised Gale."

"You must really love him," his voice is softer this time, almost tired.

"I don't," I say, "not like you love me."

"I don't love you, Katniss," he says, his voice heavy with anger.

My heart pulls closer and I can feel myself withdrawing - can feel everything we made together dissolving in this moment.

He turns his head slightly towards the room as he grips the doorknob, "But I won't hurt them, don't worry about that. I'm not you, Katniss. I'll make sure that your sister is well taken care of, and that boy of yours doesn't have to worry about his family," he looks back at me, once last time, "And I'll let Johanna know that you're doing well...next time I share her bed."

* * *

**Author's Note: I know it is an odd, short chapter but I didn't know how to include any part of the next bit without spoiling the story. It is almost done guys, and we're doing another flash forward in the next bit. Looking back, though, man this story is so different than what it was originally. Those old chapters were so simple and sweet!**

**Let me know what you think, and as always you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	29. Chapter 29 - Previous Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternate ending for By Your Hand I Have Loved. Will tie in to epilogue, but not Chapter 30. If you want to read the original/tie-in ending back up a chapter.

**Previous Ending**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but original content. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners.**

**Trigger Warning: Mentions of depression, postpartum, and suicide. Un-betaed!**

* * *

It's a few days before Peeta comes to visit me again. He's softer this time, less unloving, when he asks me for  _the name._

When I tell him his mouth falls open a little. It pains me, it does, to persecute an innocent man, but this is my sister - I have no choice.

And at least this would send Johanna a warning, keep her in line - hurt her the way she had hurt me.

"Blight," I say, "your mistress's husband, he's the one I went to."

If Johanna wanted to play this game, she too would fall. Her husband would suffer from her actions.

"You're sure," he says, one eyebrow raised, "that it's Blight?"

I grimace at him, "I'm certain."

* * *

It's not even that night before I fall ill.

The labor is intensive, it's the most pain I have ever experienced in my life. Worse than being stabbed, worse than finding my mother after she took her life.

Nobody ever tells you how terrifying looming death is, how many regrets and fears push into your head. The pain isn't even the worst part, it's the fear that consumes you… that takes everything from you.

I figure it must be punishment, the universe making sure I pay for sending a lamb to the slaughter. I wonder if the universe will take the baby too, innocent life for innocent life. I remember when I was younger reading a story like that in the religious books, hearing of a king who killed another for his wife, only to lose his illegitimate child as consequence. But whether it's the universe or simply luck, the baby comes early.

_And I survive._

* * *

I'm barely awake for the next couple of weeks. For the first couple of days I'm not even sure if the baby is alive. And between the tonics, the fever, and the general apathy, I can't be bothered to care. They don't tell me and I don't ask. It's not until one of the doctors tells me to, "Perk up, you'll get to see your little girl soon," that I even know the child's gender.

But I know one thing, the baby doesn't look like me, or more importantly, Gale. It's evident in the way they treat me, my daughter is colored fair like Peeta.

I wonder briefly if my daughter will look like my sister, if she'll love her aunt as much as I do. I will never be allowed to be my child's mother, but Prim could, and isn't that what I had fought for? For Prim's right to live?

It is that thought that quells me during the days of fevers and slumber, but eventually my sickness dies and I'm left awake far too many hours than I desire.

They tell me Peeta tried to visit me. Whether he actually did or they are just saying that for my benefit, I don't know, but I tell the midwives that I don't want to see the King, and it is never spoken of again.

* * *

It's when I start biting my nails down to stubs that everybody frets. One of my midwives, a kind lady that reminds me of Gale's mother, petitions for me to be allowed outside.

The guards seem to come to some sort of agreement to let me into the courtyard for an hour, but it doesn't do anything to push away the demons of my mind.  _There's no point_ , I think,  _it never ends._ Peeta didn't need me, the child didn't need me, even Prim was better off if I died with the evidence of her treachery. How much of my life had I lost in the past year? My father was gone, Gale was most likely dead… even my people were scattered.

I almost laugh when I think of my mother, how much of my life I had spent trying not to be like her. And here I was, doing the If only I could get my hands on some nightlock,  _how poetic would that be?_

But I don't have nightlock, and I'm too coherent to try the butter knife again. Jumping to my death is not an option, the widows have been reinforced. I can make an excellent noose, but there's nothing to hand myself from. It's possible I could hoard my medications and then knock myself off with a lethal dose, except everybody is far too concerned with me to leave me alone for more than five minutes.

What I can do is give up. I resolve to lie on the bed without eating, drinking, or taking my medications. I could do it, too. Just die, not enough tonics and food could be forced on me. I'm a couple of days into the plan, making good progress, when something unexpected happens.

I begin to sing. At the window, in the bath they force me to take, in my sleep. Hour after hour of ballads, love songs, mountain airs. All the songs my father taught me before my mother died, for certainly there has been very little music in my life since. What's amazing is how clearly I remember the songs of my youth. The tunes, the lyrics. My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. A voice that would make the birds fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in. Days pass, maybe even weeks.

My body's thinner than it's ever been and my battle against hunger is so fierce that sometimes the animal part of me gives in to the temptation of buttered bread or roasted meat. But still, I'm winning. For a few days I feel quite unwell and think I may finally be traveling out of this life, and that's when Peeta visits.

* * *

"You're trying to kill yourself again," he says as he barges into my tower room, slamming the door behind him.

I don't even turn over from my rolled up position of the bed, but that doesn't stop Peeta. Reaching across the bed, he pulls the covers from the bed and tosses them haphazardly on the floor.

I whine a little at that, sitting up a little and shooting him a dirty look. There must be something wrong with me, because when I see him all I can wish is that I wasn't so thin, that he would look at me with  _want_ rather than pity.

He gives an exasperated sigh and shakes his head,"Get up," he says, his voice thick with anger.

"No," I scowl, almost daring him to do something. My voice is raspy, rough from all the days of not speaking or drinking.

He rolls his eyes, "Enough of this. You're going to get up, get dressed, and I'm going to bring you down to the nursery to see your daughter."

I laugh, "You can't keep me alive, Peeta."

"Fine," he says, throwing up his hands, "You're right, I can't keep you alive. I can't make you see your daughter. I can't keep us together or make our marriage something it isn't, but guess what Katniss,  _you can_."

His words fall over me, not entirely convincing me to get up and pretend like everything is fine, but still pushing me to do something, anything. So I throw the only card I have left at him.

"Blight," I say, reaching out for his sleeve, "he's not the traitor."

Peeta laughs, his blue eyes glinting as he runs his hand through his hair, "You really think I don't know?"

"What do mean?" I ask.

"I know, Katniss. I'm not that foolish, I ran through the dates and I figured out that Blight couldn't be responsible. Then it came to me, you weren't in the countryside at the right time, so I double checked and it became clear that you had little to do with the rebellion. That's when I knew you were covering for somebody, and then I knew it was Prim."

A sharp pain hits my heart.  _Had I really done all of this for nothing?_

"You can calm down," he says, "I'm not going to execute your sister."

His hands intend the plush fabric as he sits beside me on the bed, "Look, Katniss. I know we have both done things that were hurtful and ill advised," he turns towards me, placing his hand on my cheek and forcing me to turn toward him, "Look at me Katniss, I love you. We are both so messed up, I know, but in the end, wherever you go,  _I'll follow you into the dark._ "

I kiss him. I'm not really in the mood for sappy affections or declarations of love, but . He was still him, broad and intoxicating, a force much stronger than any medications

He's receptive at first, his hands gliding to my back, his tongue moving with mine as I try to pull on his belt a little, push him backwards onto the bed and take him, but he pulls away from me and leaves only his hands attached to my body.

"You don't want me?" I ask. I know I'm far from pretty now, with dark circles and limp curves, but Peeta had always seemed to want me. I had relied on that, depended on it, for so long.

He shakes his head, "It's not right, but one day we'll get there. We'll figure this out," he says. "Whatever is wrong with you, us, rather, we'll push through it."

"Together?" I ask, my voice still a little raspy.

"Always," he says, clasping my hand in his.

* * *

_Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind..._

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to all the people who have helped me with this story, notably prisspanem. This chapter is dedicated to all the lovely people who have followed this story though thick and thin. I almost have 700! reviews...**


	30. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I only own the original content. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. This chapter is not betaed. Previous ending saved on AO3.**

* * *

It's another four days before Peeta comes back. I try to not think of him, try not to let my brain become overwhelmed with thoughts of him touching her, but when he walks through that doorway it all floods back to me. The anger, the loss, the loneliness.

"You here for your name?" I ask him, sitting up a little in bed.

He shakes his head, "We can discuss that later. I came to apologize…"

I stare at him for a moment, take in the dark blue suit and recently cut hair. He wasn't wearing the cream waistcoat that he would usually wear with an ensemble like this, and his jacket didn't quite match his breeches. I wondered if he had lost his jacket, perhaps in a romp with Johanna or whatever courtier he was sleeping with these days.

"I didn't agree to discuss personal issues with you. If you want to talk business, then that is fine. If you are here to make empty apologies, then please see yourself out."

"Stop," he says, "we can discuss that at another time. The things I said to you the other day, they weren't right. I was quick to speak and I regret what was said that day."

I roll my eyes a little and turn my focus on the orange by my bedside, "That's great, Peeta. You do know how doors work, don't you?"

"I only slept with her once, you know."

My blood boils, how dare he bring her up again? As if only sleeping with her once was any excuse. Hadn't this whole affair started over gossip that I had shared a bed with Gale? It's not that I even care, that I have any right to care. But he was the one who had been so self righteous, who had promised me fidelity and love.

"Who did you only sleep with once, Peeta?"

"You know who I'm talking about," he pauses, "don't make this any harder than it already is."

My eyes flit up and down, "You could have slept with dozens of women since you locked me up. Who am I to presume anything?"

"Johanna," he says, "it was just after you were arrested. I was angry and well, she was there for me."

"Okay, Peeta," I look at him, disinterested, "I care little about who you sleep with," the lie roll effortlessly off my teeth, a year in this place has made me far more convincing. "What consequence is it to me who you stick your cock in? If you want to parade around with Johanna, have at it."

He stares at me, his body tensing as my words roll over him, "Katniss, what can I do to make things at the very least amicable between us? If there is something..."

I snort. He wanted to pretend we were on good terms in case I died?

"Making up is about alleviating any guilt, is that it?" I roll my eyes at him. "Well in that case, why don't you just leave, Peeta."

He sighs and turns towards the doorway, "Katniss," he says, "listen, I'll make this up to you. No matter what I have to do, I'll always follow you into the dark."

* * *

Days pass and Peeta never comes back for the name. I resign myself to my bed, figuring he has more important issues to deal with than his traitorous wife, the woman he doesn't even love. But then they come for me, not three days later.

When the guards show up at my door and announce I'm being escorted downstairs, I almost scream. For a moment I think I'm being escorted to my death, that they'll behead me pregnancy or no pregnancy. Or worse, that my sister has been revealed and I'm being brought to her execution. Or Gale's.

Back in Seam executions weren't that uncommon, and despite having been shielded from them in Panem I am sure somewhere in the city center crowds gathered to see criminals and murderers put to the death. It is strange how obsessed people are with death, how many people will gawk at a man being strung up on the gallows.

Refusing to placate a King has deadly consequences.

But I try not to let the fear overwhelm me, and instead I put on a brave face, composing myself as Peeta's men help me down the winding stairs of the tower. If I am going down, if they are going to force me to watch Gale die or some other twisted thing, nobody would get the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

* * *

When I was in the tower I had always imagined what it would be like to get away from the musky smell of closed air and peer out into open land. During my better moments I longed for the piney woods, the fresh mountain air of my youth. But the memory falls flat, instead of being welcomed by the smells of the earth I'm forced to stand amongst the stench of hundreds of people crammed together.

Most of them are peasants, day laborers. Most of them, I imagine, haven't washed in days. But it doesn't bother me as much as confuse me. Never in the entire span of my stay here had I seen this many of the common class gathered on the King's property. And it makes me uneasy, even more so as my guards escort me toward the center of the calamity.

Murmurs radiate through the crowd as they recognize me.

"Look, it's the _revolutionary_."

"I'm surprised he didn't execute her already, traitorous bitch."

But at this point, my heart is beating so fast and fierce I hardly hear them. I only know that whatever waits in the middle of the square is meant for me.

When I finally break through to the cleared space, I see I am right. My heart freezes when I see him, my husband stepping up on _that_ platform.

Peeta is wearing silk brown breeches and nothing more than a loose white undershirt. He would look almost common if he didn't carry himself with dignified stature, his jaw tightened in a steely gaze.

_And not five feet away from him on the platform is a whipping post._

Even if he didn't love me, even if he wished to bed Johanna every evening, I couldn't let whatever this was happen. By the look of things he was going to take a beating, and from the number of his guards it didn't seem like he was being forced. _What on earth is his intention?_

Allowing the crowd to part around me I surge toward the center, stopping when I reach the wooden platform. Much to my surprise, nobody pulls me back or orders me to halt when I get close to him.

"Peeta,"I hiss, tugging on the edge of his sleeve, "what are you doing?"

His eyes meet mine with desperate sincerity, "I have to give myself," he says, "I have done my wrongs and I need to face what is mine. Thirty lashes, it is the only way to end this, to be a leader."

What did he think? That taking a beating, risking his life, would be best? How far gone was he that playing the sacrificial lamb made sense. _Thirty lashes?_ He would be dead before the tenth hit his back.

"I never betrayed you," I tell him, low and desperate, "don't do this. You're being a fool."

"I know," he says as the guards urge him up the stage, "I know you're not a traitor...and I love you. I will always love you." His voice grows louder as he moves farther up the stairs and onto the platform, his shouts echoing throughout the courtyard, "I love you, Katniss."

I shake the thoughts away from my head, dismissing his declarations of love as he takes a stand on the platform, peering out into the crowd.

Peeta's eyes are bright as he speaks, no hint of fear clouding his features, "Sometimes men forget that a King's duty is to his people. It is his people that he must protect, it is people who he must provide for. And in turn those people protect and provide for him. When a King faces trials he ensures that the guilty are punished and the unrest is put to bay. But a King must also face his people, he must give himself wholly and devotedly to them. And so that is what I am doing today, _giving myself to you._ For it is through my brokenness, my punishment, that I hope we can heal as a nation."

I choke up as the guards lead him to the whpping post. They have to restrain me when the whipsman, a masked guard, probably one of Peeta's own, takes the first blow. It must look comical, two grown men restraining a pregnant Queen.

At first Peeta takes the lashes with dignity, biting down onto the leather bit they give him and doing nothing more than grimacing. And then slowly he seems to fade, the blood on his back pooling more as the lashes go by.

By the twenty fifth lash I can't contain myself anymore. He slumps unconscious on his knees, held up only by the ropes at his wrists. What used to be his back is a raw, bloody slab of meat.

"No!" I cry, and spring forward, pushing back against the weakened grip of the guards and pounding up the stairs. It's too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won't have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Peeta. I've flung out my arms to protect as much of his broken body as possible, so there's nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. The pain is blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light cross my vision and I fall to my knees. One hand cups my cheek while the other keeps me from tipping over. I can already feel the welt rising up, the swelling closing my eye. The stones beneath me are wet with my husband's blood, the air heavy with its scent.

"Stop it! You'll kill him!" I shriek. I get a glimpse at my assailant's face and I freeze. Even behind the mask I know who it is, Peeta's redheaded guard Darius. My husband trusted him, I knew that. Why wasn't he more hesitant then, to deliver blows to his King?

One of the royal doctors comes to my aid, and the hands of steady guards pull me away kicking and screaming. My voice is dry, my body weary. And the pleading must have some affect on the situation, because the crowd quickly turns in the King's favor.

"Let him go," an older man shouts, "nobody needs a dead King."

Murmurs of agreement pass through the crowd, and in an attempt to quell the people one of the guards, an older man I don't recognize, says, "It is the King's decree. Thirty lashes and not a single less. I have orders."

"If you go through with this," I shout against my restraints, "King's orders or not you will all be put to death."

The guard seems to contemplate this, "She's not wrong," he says, nodding to the men in red and gold livery, "release him to the doctors."

* * *

Nobody seems to know what to do with me. They won't let me come with Peeta, won't let me accompany him to the medical chambers, but now that I'm outside of the tower no man is going to take the initiative to lock me back up. Peeta, it seems, has taken favor with me again and none of his guards are foolish enough to try to gain his anger.

It's Effie who comes to my rescue, "Come along dear," she says, a sad smile gracing her lips, "come see the King."

* * *

**Author's Note: This is the original ending I planned. I lost my original notes and had to re-write it, the tone changed a bit while being re-created but overall I'm sort of proud of it.**

**One more chapter and the epilogue left!**

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub.**


	31. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: This is not beta-ed. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. I only own the original concept and idea.**

**If you read the original Chapter 29, you should probably roll back and re-read the updated version.**

* * *

Peeta is propped up straight when I walk in. His body is mostly bare aside from loose breeches, his back covered in white cloth. The stench of herbs and medicine lingers through the room, the smell evident of the previous hours' affair.

"How do you feel?" I ask, starting with the safe question, "You look awful."

"Well thanks for the encouragement," he laughs, "I'm fine, I was out of it for the worst part. Now my back is mostly numb with all of the tonics the doctors applied."

The conversation is so normal, so casual, it almost feels out of touch for the two of us.

His eyes drift towards my stomach, "What about you?"

"I'm fine," I shrug, feeling uncomfortable, "You shouldn't have done that, you know?"

"You didn't have to save me," he retorts. "I never asked you to."

I wrinkle my nose. How dare he point the finger at me when he was the one acting like an imbecile. I shake my head, hands curling around the bed coverings in anger,, "Me? Me, Peeta? _I feel like slapping you_ , what kind of idiotic, bull hearted move was that?"

His shoulders raise with a bite of pain, "It worked," he remarks, "public support has shifted. It will go down in the history books, that's for sure."

"I don't care in the slightest if it worked, and even less if it put you in the history books," I sit down on the bed and he winces a little at the movement. "If you had gotten infected, if you had died? I swear, Peeta."

His eyes drift towards mine, "I did it for you, for the baby…"

I scoff. "Oh please," I say, "this has nothing to do with me. This is about you - your honor, your worthiness as a King. You like being the sacrificial lamb, don't pretend otherwise."

"You know what," he says, "I don't have the energy in me to fight with you. So let me lay my cards on the table. I know about Prim, I know you are protecting her - I know about Johanna's little conspiracy," he looks up at me, expectantly.

My heart quivers a little, "You won't touch her," I say, "it wouldn't be good for you."

"What do you think," he raises his voice, "that I'm going to take your child sister up to the chopping block? What is it about me, even now, that makes you believe I would do such a thing. Do you not know that I love you? Isn't the fact that you are here today evidence of that? _You_ are the one that didn't have the courtesy to come to me, to tell me that my people were conspiring against my wishes, against me. You're the one who betrayed _my_ trust. And you know what, Katniss, I screwed up. I touched Johanna against my vows, but I'm not the only one at fault," he squints his eyes shut in what I can only assume to be pain from his back, " _Why are you so intent on painting me as this...this demonic bastard?"_

"Because," I tell him,"if you're not...that, if I trust you or love you, then what? I fall into your arms, I can't...be that for you Peeta."

"Why is that, Katniss? What are you so afraid of?" Peeta drags his teeth against his bottom lip, "I can sympathize with loyalty tied to your country, but now that the rebellion has been crushed you have no responsibilities to those...those people. What excuse will you give now for pushing me away?"

I turn slightly away from him on the bed, because _what can I say to that?_

"Is it because you don't love me, don't feel for me that way?" he leans forward a little, wincing. "Because I can accept that, I'm just tired of being in this half way, here and there place with you."

"It's not…" I shake my head, hoping that is answer enough, "I'm sorry," I tell him, taking a deep breath, "I'm sorry for doubting you. I'm sorry I didn't come to you. But she's my sister, I had to do whatever I could to protect her."

He runs his hand along his forehead, "What are we going to do, Katniss?"

The question is so vague, I have no idea how to answer. Is he making a reference to the country or something greater, _us_ , perhaps?

"I don't know," I shrug. "What are you going to do," I deflect, hoping to change the subject, "about the traitors?"

He grimaces a little when he moves, "I am going to issue pardons of controlled exile. Ten years under my thumb at the border of Panem."

I scoff, "That's a little easy, don't you think? What Peeta, can't give your mistress the axe?"

"Don't act like that, Katniss," he sighs, almost resigned, "not when I am giving you Gale."

"Gale?" I say, perking up, "You're going to give Gale a pardon?"

"Not a pardon," he clears, shaking his head, "House arrest, confinement to a certain radius and complete forfeiture of all his land and titles. I know that if I kill him, you will never forgive me. And besides, it isn't a good look for my 'era of reconstruction.'"

My heart tightens. _Gale isn't going to die._

"Thank you," I say, "truly, genuinely. But Peeta, my people - they will never serve under your rule, even if I am your wife. Perhaps even more so because I am."

It is true, the people of Seam would rather die than live under Peeta. Enforcing Panemian rule in Seam would be near impossible without brutal show of force.

A golden curl falls from its place, "His brother is old enough, though, I thought I might put him on the throne. Enforce a cabinet of my men for a few years, and when your sister is older perhaps we can discuss a marriage?"

I laugh, "I'd like to see that...Prim and Rory."

Peeta smiles ever so lightly, "You'll see, Katniss, things will come together, not just for Seam and Panem, for us as well."

And that's when I feel the first contraction.

* * *

**Author's Note: This is a little short, but I felt the need to cut it off right here. Sorry for the wait guys, it took me a little while to get the courage to decide how to settle this story off. As you can probably imagine, there will be another chapter. I decided upon further inspection to split the story up and give myself a chance to write more about the ending and tie everything up.**

**Hope you are looking forward to the next chapter! I'm also going through the older chapters and re-editing. If anybody out there is particularly good with grammar/etc. please contact me. And yes, the Johanna issue will be dealt with in the next chapter - Peeta will explain what happened between them.**

**As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub.**


	32. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and concepts. Thank you for following this story for the long stretch!**

* * *

The baby is warm and pink and tiny, like most babies I suppose. But this one, she's mine - Peeta's too. And the way he looks at her, the pure adoration that fills his face as he watches me hold her...

"You named her _Petra_?" I ask, repeating the name the midwife had given me. We lie on the floor of the roof, propped up against the wall and surrounded by an assortment of flowers and foliage, many of them planted in honor of our daughter, I'd imagine.

He looks at me a little sheepishly, "They needed a name when she was born. The council and I agreed it was best. It's a family name, a feminine form of Peeta."

"It's a statement, isn't it?" I ask, rocking her gently in my arms, "A way of letting everybody know you claim her."

He nods, "A way of making sure people know she isn't Gale's."

 _Gale._ I had barely thought of him since I had awoken, too sick to think of much more than my daughter. The labor had been intensive, but the days that followed were even worse - a myriad of fevered dreams and near death. But nonetheless I had lived, and so had she.

"I put a stay on Gale's execution like I promised," Peeta blurts out. "He's not dead."

"Oh?" I say, the baby resting in my lap. I'm not quite sure what to do with her, having never been particular about babies, but Peeta seems to know about those things. "Here," I say, lifting her gently, "you can take her."

Peeta's eyes light up as he takes her into his arms, cradling her in the crook of his arm.

"Gale," he says in a soft, cooing voice, "I don't suppose anybody told you. There was a whole ceremony, while you were ill, and then at the last moment he was granted a royal pardon. It was the committee's idea, a show of leniency to quell the unrest. I am working on this landmark legislation with Haymitch, The United Kingdoms of Panem, we're calling it."

"The United Kingdoms of Panem?" I laugh, "Who came up with that name, the council?"

"Johanna, actually," he says, darkening a little, "she said it was concise, honest."

My heart snaps up at that, my thoughts drifting to the time that had passed - the world where my husband was discussing politics and reform with his mistress. Why was it so easy for him to allow her into his council when I had to fight for every bit of influence?

"And Johanna," I ask snidely, "was she pardoned at the beck of your bed?"

Peeta shakes his head, "I am sending her to exile at the Abernathy Estate along the border. She is still smart though, useful in that manner."

"Useful in other manners too, I imagine," my words are sharp, full of a resentment I didn't know I was holding back.

"Katniss," he squeeze my hand with his free one, "I touched her and I know it was wrong, but…"

"You touched her, though," I shrug at him, resigned with the affirmation, "it is what it is."

Perhaps Peeta felt justified in his actions with her at the time, but the thought of them together still livens an anger in me. If it had been any other woman, I don't think I would care as much, but Johanna had been friend and enemy in so many ways.

"I touched her," he says, "but I didn't lie with her. I'm not sure if it makes a difference."

"And did you enjoy it?" I ask tentatively, though I already know the answer. All the men Johanna roped around seemed to enjoy her, and Peeta had come to her bed before.

Peeta looks downward at the baby, "I won't lie, I did, in the moment. I felt sick in the aftermath, though I'm not sure if that was what I did with her or thoughts of you."

"When you slept with her," I ask him quietly, leaning back against the wall, "did you know she betrayed you?"

"No," he says firmly, "of course not. If I was in the habit of bedding traitors I would have come to you."

"A-and after?" I ask him, voice raspy, "I know you said, but did you...even once?"

He shakes his head, careful not to disturb the baby, "No, not with her or any other. I kept things up with her for some time though, bled her for information I knew I couldn't get from anybody else. But I never touched her in the slightest way, that I promise to you."

"Will we be able to make this work?" I sigh at him, ignoring the daffodils pressing into my shoulder, "I know we can't - can't be fixed tomorrow. But you were right that day, we have a child, Peeta, and I don't want mine to grow up the way you or I did. I want, at the very least, for us to get along. Maybe we will never really forgive each other, but we ought to-"

"You're forgiven," his voice cracks a little and for a moment I think he is going to cry, "You're always forgiven."

"Peeta…" I drift off, "we have both mistrusted, and even harmed, each other. That won't be fixed with pretty words."

"But we can work on it. Look, Katniss," he says, shifting towards me and causing the baby in his hands to move her tiny fist against him, "I have said it before and I will say it again, I am not going to spend the rest of our marriage barely speaking and keeping lovers. Forgiveness, it's a choice - so I'm forgiving you no matter what, but promise me this - tell me you will try to work on us."

"Okay, Peeta," I shift my legs outward and lean my head against the crux of his shoulder. "We can work on it," I sigh against him, "And...I forgive you too."

"If it wouldn't hurt my back so much I'd lean over and kiss you," he says, rolling back his head in laughter.

"What?" I say, wriggling my eyebrow, "I'm not worth it?"

"No," he says, lifting my hand to his lips, "you're always worth it."

* * *

**Author's Note: I'll probably continue it past this, hope you like where I'm heading with the two of them and thank you so much for all of the support I have been granted over the years.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. Big round of applause to all the people that have made this story possible!**


	33. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creation. Fair warning, this is un-betaed!**

* * *

My hands slam against the headboard carvings, my head bearing down into the bed coverings as Peeta slides into me. "Don't stop," I cry out against his chest, the entirety of his body surrounding me.

"Never," he sighs, his face contorting as he grips the hard wooden edges of the bed. "Oh god, Katniss…"

The heat of him, the comfort of his body covering me...it's as if everything between us hasn't happened, as if we were never lovers or friends or enemies. In that moment it's only us and nothing else.

"Pull out," I gasp as I feel him contract inside of me. "Please, Peeta."

He complies, finishing onto the sheets beside me not a moment too soon. It is then that the breathy weight of it all falls down upon the room in shallow groans and half hearted attempts to conceal the awkwardness of what we have done. It is funny how in the moment lust feels like a cure for all, that the connection of two bodies is the desire of souls, that intimacy can bear knowledge of one's selves.

"I love you," I say, and it comes out of nowhere. I laugh shallowly, an attempt to break up the claustrophobic nature of the room's air.

"Do you?" he swallows, looking over at me. "Does it count when it is said so soon after I have been inside of you?"

"It is true," I say, and it is, because no matter what happened between us it would always be Peeta and I. And I love him, even though I tried for the longest time not to. I love him with every part of my being, with every breath of my body. "I love you, Peeta. I know I have said it before, and it isn't a declaration of lust - I love you."

"Say it again, then," he breathes, rolling over so that he lies closer to me. "Say it again and again and never stop."

"I love you, Peeta. I love you, I love you, I love you." The words remind me of the first time I spoke them, of a time that seems so far away from the reality of today.

Peeta pulls my body over his, wrapping me in his warm embrace. My toes run against his bare legs, our bodies drawing closer together as he tightens his arms around me. "You know I love you," he says, a half whisper into my ear. "You know I will always love you, no matter what."

"I know," I reply, pushing my head into his chest. "I know, Peeta."

"We're family," he tells me, his hand nearing dangerously close to my breasts. "We have a child. You and I, we're bonded for life."

"Mmm…" I murmur in response as he slides his fingers under the sheets. Peeta's hand glides down my body, his fingers brushing over the one spot where I need him most.

"You don't want another child," he infers, slipping a finger inside me.

My teeth bite into my lip at the feeling of his hands. This is not the position I imagined I would be in when we had this conversation.

"I can't, I can't risk it again," I tell him. "I can't worry, I can't be sick again. More so than anything, I can't be responsible for another...not now."

"Can you even get pregnant so close to giving birth?" He asks, his fingers pausing in position.

"I heard of women, back in the Seam…" My thoughts wander to my home country, to pregnant women with dozens of starving children and ailing husbands.

"Perhaps then," he says, "I shouldn't be inside of you all that often. No method is completely effective, and I don't want to damage what we have."

I flip my body over so that I face him, our naked bodies aligning. Even now it is strange that I can be so completely undone with him. I raise an eyebrow, laughing. "And you can live with that, being without my body? Perhaps I should be insulted…"

He laughs. "I am sure we can think of _something_ to do in our spare time. As I said, we would only do it ever so often, minimize the risk."

I shake my head. "We can't," I say. "We are married, it is expected of us. I just need some time, we can only wait for so long. They will want a son, or at least a child to spare."

"You are more important than that," he says, placing a kiss against my neck. "More important than anything."

"Do you want another?" I ask, lifting my body up. "Another Petra, another child to add to your lineage?"

He smiles against me. "I love Petra, you know that. To see a child, to see everything you are born into something so pure...it's magical. So yes, I would want another, but not more so than I want you."

Peeta is selfless in that respect, always willing to give things up on my behalf. I can only deprive him of another child for so long before it becomes selfish, if not demanded by the court, but him offering to spend his life half celibate, to give up on the family he wants, it means everything to me.

"Kiss me," I sigh into his chest. "Kiss me and kiss me and never stop."

* * *

There is a council meeting in the morning that Peeta brings me to, a meeting about Gale, about the traitors. I can sense from the air about the room that some don't agree with Peeta's handling of the rebellion, though the dirty looks seem to get passed more in my direction than anybody else's. They must blame me for having influence on Peeta. Now that I am in favor with the King, however, none of them will dare to say a word to my face.

Peeta spends a good two hours discussing the finer details of his plan for the The United Kingdoms of Panem. Economic development, unification, trade agreements...the details all blend together, I have never been one for diplomacy, but by the end of the meeting he seems to have most of the council's support. They must all agree, even if he is gentle, he is a far cry from an idiot.

I wonder, as the years go by, how I will be remembered in the history of Panem. Coveted lover of the king, whisked away to marry him? Tempting traitor despised by all? Or will they know me as the Mockingjay, as the mother and wife of the greatest rulers of Panem.

I wonder then, who I will be, not in the books of Panem history, but in the fables and folktales of the Seam. It is a thought I have had many times before. I can't imagine what they think of me know, back in Peeta's arms and mother to his child. I hope, regardless, that I can give my people the opportunity that Peeta has given me; a chance for something better, for prosperity.

I hope still that one day Petra will know where her mother came from, will come to love both of her parents' homelands. For just as I have become one half Seam and one half Panem, she too will be tied to both lands through the blood that runs through her veins and the people she will preside over.

* * *

**Author's Note: As promised, I updated this fic with a little preview of how things stem in terms of them rebuilding their lives, countries, and relationship. Hope you guys enjoyed it, let me know if you want it to continue past this. Do you want to see more of the baby, Petra?**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. Thanks for all of you who have stayed through everything and are still reading this fic. I am working on rewriting the previous chapters and making the formatting a little more uniform. Please let me know what you thought!**

**If you like Prince Peeta, check out my story The Ruby Thief: Katniss Everdeen, a professional thief and part time assassin, is tasked to steal a ruby necklace from Prince Peeta, but things don't always go as planned. Historical AU.**


End file.
